Pandora's Song
by plink
Summary: Post RE5. Chris finds himself caught up in a scheme that started back in Arklay Mountains outbreak. Jill/Chris/Sheva, Wesker/oc and tentacles. Updated - Wesker reminisces. Chris is frantic. Monsters attack. We are coming to the end...
1. Insert coin to continue

_Flashback fic, post RE5. Contains body horror, kinky sex, drug usage, OCs, creepy crawlies, hallucinations and Wesker. _

**PANDORA'S SONG**

**CHAPTER ONE**: New Player, Insert Coin

At first it had been a week. Just to get paperwork sorted out at HQ. To get information. The four of them had sat in that pokey little office and listened to what was being said and had – at the time – agreed. Because it was the _right thing to do_. Reports needed to be filed. Horrors worked through. No, they did not want the number of a licensed therapist. They'd been through it enough to know how to deal with it, or in Jill's case Do Not Talk About, **Ever**. Then, banished, they went back to their collective motels, stared at the walls and waited it out until the BSAA called them once more.

By the time the second week had finished, people were naturally starting to get a bit…antsy. Josh had to leave. He had things he needed to do. Sheva wanted to get back onto the road again. Jill's nightmares were getting worse. Chris was becoming more and more distant. Those same four walls, those same streets, this quarter of Nairobi, the officials of the BSAA were not letting them go anywhere, at any time.

Suddenly it was passport difficulties. Where was Jill's ID anyway? Could she really say she was Jill Valentine? Who could back that up apart from the immediate circle of BSAA operatives? She didn't look a thing like her picture, y'know.

And then the monsters started coming back.

They let Josh go first, but only because he knew the teams in this part of Africa. There had been a few incidents collecting the materials from each danger zone, samples and equipment, and one team had gone missing. Josh begged for Chris or Sheva to join him, but was stonewalled at each turn. They relented finally, allowing Sheva to go with him but on close watch, but Chris? No, he was to remain off duty. He wasn't…_well_.

The loss of Wesker had hit him harder than he'd thought possible. He hadn't realized how deeply he'd felt for his former captain; there had still been a connection there and despite the adrenaline rush during battle, he hadn't wanted the man to _die_. He was despicable, he was evil, but he had still protected and raised Chris in the ranks of S.T.A.R.s and looked after him. Looked after them _all _in some weird, unfathomable way. He'd not killed Jill. He could have; and while Jill was quiet on all fronts to do with her involvement with him (mind control didn't leave much for actual memories) there hadn't been any actual injuries. Where did it all fit together? How did it all work? And why did it feel so wrong?

With Wesker, at least, you knew what you were doing. The man had flair and had been blessedly predictable whenever he showed his face. Chris still ached from the fights since the Oroboros incident, but they were more in his mind than in the flesh. And as he retreated into his mind, growing quieter and more frustrated as the third week melted into the fourth, Jill only became more and more irritable, snapping at everything. Going cold turkey on P30 made coming off heroin look easy. At least in the first few weeks Chris had been occupied with taking care of her as the process took hold, but now there was nothing more than anger and misery left in its wake.

He couldn't even call his sister.

What was the BSAA playing at?

oOo

The office was unexpectedly bright and cheery, but nothing brought his mood up. Unshaven, tired and more than a little depressed, Chris sat down and looked across the desk to a man he'd never met before. He looked like a clerk. He probably was a clerk. He only gave his last name – Sarton. Something about that was vaguely familiar, but Chris was too tired to think.

"Mr. Redfield. Thank you for coming."

"Is this going to take long?"

There was a fraction of a jerk of the man's fingers, a faint smile. "It might, it might not. It depends on how you're going to work with myself and the team." He held up a hand before Chris could speak. "I apologize for the way you've been treated, but understand there is a reason behind everything. The BSAA are worried about cross-infection. Sheva Alomar has checked out nice and clean, but considering your – and your partner's - past history with the problem at hand, we are naturally…concerned. That is why you have been put on the bench. This isn't even going into the nasty business of visas and people coming back from the dead."

"Get to the point." Chris managed. "I have someone to get back to."

Sarton sat back, his motions quick, birdlike. "At the moment there's nothing we can do about Ms. Valentine's predicament. She is getting the medical care we can afford, but it's difficult considering what's happened. But make no mistake – she's in good hands. What we need right now is from you."

Chris frowned.

"One of our benefactors has expressed interest in the remains of Gionne's labs. In particular, it seems that her dalliance with Wesker may have uncovered some of Umbrella's…better kept secrets."

The other man closed his eyes, stifling a chuckle. Of course. Damn him for inheriting his mother's intuition, that should have been Claire's issue. This mess with TriCell wasn't over. It was _never_ over insofar as Umbrella was concerned. "Go on…"

"At the moment Josh and Sheva are investigating one of the areas, but let's face it Chris, you're the go-to guy when it comes to Albert Wesker." He flushed, and Sarton's grin was fleeting, but accusing. "If anyone knows where he's going to hide something away, it'd be you."

He stood up in disgust, but it was hard. His body was sluggish, cold. Shock, he realized. All over again. "No."

"I had a feeling you'd say that. But let me sweeten the deal for you. The benefactor has their hands on some pretty important stuff. Stuff that can…help your friends. You want to see your sister again? This might be the fastest way of doing it."

Chris shut his eyes, the fight playing over in his mind again. The heat of the lava. The fumes. "I can't."

"Then do it for Jill." Sarton leaned forward, eager. "For Claire."

For a moment he couldn't believe what he'd just heard. Chris studied the other man intently, feeling the blade of reason cut cleanly through his unhappiness and let him feel…alive…for the first time in what felt like an eternity of arguments, sleepless nights and too many beers. He sagged, defeated, but wary. "…Okay."

Sarton nodded, relaxing back into his chair. "I suspect it will be Ms. Alomar who will meet you back at the motel. I've given your frequency to the relevant people; wait for Ms. Alomar to make contact and go from there." He waved down Chris' motion of concern. "I'll send a medical team over to keep an eye on Ms. Valentine. Just focus on the task at hand."

"But what is it? What are we looking for? If this is going to be another Tyrant, or some new kind of mutated monster…if they're after Oroboros-"

Sarton stood up. When he smiled, he looked predatory, far from the spindly, long-nosed clerk he'd been once Chris had walked into the room. "Christopher Redfield. All you're looking for is one little box. That's all _I_ know. And I think, considering the circumstances, that's all _you_ need to know as well."

oOo

Three blocks away, the sunlight glinted off a camera lens that clicked and whirred as the highspeed shutter flickered, catching Chris' progress through the squat, nondescript BSAA headquarters. Lost for a moment as he entered one of the access hallways, the young man watching him waited patiently until he reappeared on street level, noticeably worried in that tiny view screen.

Another succession of whirrs and clicks. The car driving up, flash against the downtown market sprawl. License plate recorded. Facial expressions. Beside the young man a laptop hummed away, processing the images from the camera, the firewire cable entangled in his free hand. He caressed it like a lover, as he sucked on a mint, squinting for more movement.

Behind him, a door opened. The soft thump of well-kept shoes and the slosh of water bottles. "How is it?"

"He took the bait." The young man moved aside to let his companion take a look. It was only a fleeting glimpse, but the older and darker-skinned of the pair took in a startled breath. The younger one sighed. His profile has several psychological triggers." He wiped the sweat from his brow, short, golden-brown curls lank in the heat. "Family is one of them."

"Sounds familiar." Came the glum reply. "I didn't think he'd say yes to it though."

"Of course he would. He's Chris Redfield." Hazel eyes, almost golden in the light, shone as he took the water bottle, unscrewed the lid and took a long swig. "And if anyone has a more fucked up idea of family than _us_, it's him. Poor bastard."

"Don't swear." The older of the two chided.

The car sped away, the occupant completely unaware he'd been watched throughout his journey and orders. Unaware that his every move had been predicated and planned.

"She's going to eat him alive. And the worst part of it?" Golden-eyes got off the bed and walked to the door. He looked ill. "He's going to _let_ her."

**-To be continued.**

_Okay, I know what you're thinking. You're wondering why I'm in your fandom. You're wondering what I'm doing with your toys. You're wondering who these damn OCs are. They're going to feature heavily, and I'm sorry about that, but they kind of need to. It has been years since I played a game, so I apologize…um I will update as this comes, the fic's all over three files in different parts. Har. This is irritating, but considering this is actually two stories, it might work? I don't know. _

_A lot of the ideas have already been covered in the archive as far as I can tell, but I'm trying to put a new spin on the whole survivor issue, looking at the virus itself and people's motivations. I'll try to keep to the horror/squick aspect the games and series are noted for, and that the OCs remain either ridiculously underpowered or overwhelmed.  
><em>

_I promise to warn for trigger material as it presents itself. I'm sort of writing this as it comes. Ugh! Will try to keep the OOCness to a minimum, please shout out if I'm mucking up, ok? _


	2. Peon, Interrupted

_One of the problems with this fic is that it's written over three different master files, and is essentially two stories. I could have released them separately, but then it wouldn't be a challenge. That and the majority of what's been written is sex or violence. Ones I'm not sure I can release due to content. Argh. I regret that now. OH WELL. _

_TRIGGER WARNING: Drug use, stalkers. A fair few swearwords due to Susan and possible ooc-ness. If it bothers you, please let me know. This chapter was actually quite fun to write._

**PANDORA'S SONG**

**CHAPTER TWO**: Peon, Interrupted.

**PRESENT DAY **

Afternoon, the light fell in dappled orange splashes across the cheap carpet and scuffed furniture. It was getting late, and Sarton still preyed on his mind, something there that continued to try and get his attention – it would come in time, he couldn't force it.

Chris looked to the one closed door in the place he'd called home for the last month. Jill was behind that door. He grimaced, tugged a beer out of the fridge and slumped into the second of the two couches – the one he'd gotten used to by habit. He could watch all the doors from there. Hard to sleep sometimes. At least here he could view everything.

The maid had stopped cleaning when she'd found the knives stuffed down between the cushions, but old habits died hard.

This beer was, in fact, quite hard. Unforgiving. Chris drank it down anyway and wished that he'd said yes to Sarton's offer of lunch. Cooling his heels here until Sheva returned was not his idea of a fun time, because it meant having to explain things to Jill. And Jill would not take it well.

No time like the present.

Feeling the sweat trickle down his back – when would he ever get used to this heat? – he crushed the can and lobbed it at the bin. It didn't even hit the rim, which made him frown. _You're off your game, Redfield._

"Jill?" No answer. He got up, walked to the door, opened it a crack, or at least tried to. "Jill."

A muffled grunt. The curtains were drawn, and it was hot in there, he could tell.

"Jill, open up." It was more of a pleading whisper than a demand, and at last there was movement, just on the edge of hearing. The door was unlocked, opened a crack.

A pale blue eye framed with lank pale hair started up at him from the face of the woman he'd once trusted with his life. "What."

"We need to talk."

"Fuck off."

"_Jill_." _Go slowly with her_. "Jill, I'm leaving soon. We need to talk now."

Her pupils constricted, just slightly. The door clicked shut and was then opened again. Jill Valentine. His best friend. Someone he'd once almost considered a lover had he the courage to say something. _What did Wesker do to you?_ She was too skinny by far, ribs showing under her tank-top and the loose sweat-pants hung on flesh that wasn't there. Arms raised to the door frame, fingers curled, an awful parody of an attempt at seduction. She chewed her lip and eyed him from that hood of hair the colour of sun-bleached wheat. "Where?" She said, her voice cracked.

"I'm not sure."

"You can't."

"I have to." He felt awkward, like a boy trying to ask his crush out, knowing it would never happen. His affection for her was still there, but this change was drastic. Too drastic. "The BSAA need me to track something down. In return they're going to get you the proper medical atten-"

"No."

"Jill!"

She grabbed at him, her grip was strangely weak, her face pressed close. She smelt of vomit. There were needle marks on her arms. _Shit. Shit I should have known. _"I don't want them. I need it. I need it here. They'll take me off it, I can't come off it! You don't know what it's like!"

It took all the effort in the world not to crush those fragile, once beautiful hands. She'd chewed the nails off. "You need help, Jill."

"I don't need help. _I need my fix_!"

"I can't keep letting this slide anymore. I figured it would take the edge off it for you, but I'm counting three plasters there. How many now, Jill?" He gripped her, didn't let her twist away. "_How many_?"

She wouldn't answer. He wanted to hug her. He wanted to cradle her, tell her everything would be okay, but stubborn Jill wouldn't let anyone in. She'd much rather sneak out, bribe the maids and the porters for drugs. Anything for a drop of P30 to put her back into diamond-edged bliss. Bring her back into that control. Back to being Jill. But it wasn't coming from the source. It was muddied. It was different. And with this inferior material, Jill was staging a fairly brilliant Doctor Jekyll and Hyde trick that would have made even the toughest of people take a second glance.

She went to say something, but then she jerked. It took a moment to swing her into the bathroom, let her vomit.

Sheva was going to kill him.

But he'd do anything for Jill. Anything at all.

Hating himself as he wiped the sweat from her brow, hating himself for what was forming on his lips as she clutched onto him like she was drowning. Trusting him, despite her sharp tongue and even sharper nails. "I'll look. They might have some left. We can figure something out. Something to set you free."

Jill didn't say anything, she just smiled. And retched. And smiled again.

**ARKLAY, MAY 9, 1998**

Ordinarily, the Arklay facility ran like clockwork, provided you liked your clocks eccentric, suffering from OCD and with a taste that ran into the white coat and slacks variety with the occasional suspicious stain. As long as the cafeteria kept serving food that was passable, the coffee was on tap and everyone remembered to shower at _least_ every third day, there were no problems. Everyone got on with each other. It was…_okay_. Umbrella was precious about its scientists, and a fair few staff had been employed to make sure each cog and each dial of the proverbial machine was oiled in the right way and arranged in the correct sequence so Doctor Whatshisface didn't have to work with Suchandsuch's team and vice versa. They had it down to an _art_.

So naturally, when several of the admin divisions suddenly turned up at the door, there had to be some friction. And with friction came smoke. Smoke lead to fire.

This was an in-joke amidst the researchers because people stuck in small labs and playing with dangerous things tend to be a bit insensitive to outsiders. It had absolutely nothing to do with them, y'know, that an animal rights activist – _several_ activists, actually, had decided that hitting a lab was too difficult by security standards, so why not hit one of the ground offices instead? Served them right for doing bloody desk jobs. Stupid, you know. So when we joke, it's because it's _funny_, so stop being so damn _sensitive_.

The scuffles in the corridor were the source of much amusement to the higher-ups, but concerns were still there that now there were other things to occupy the brightest minds in the world and distract them on finding out how many ways a mouse can kill a man. There were words. There were pointed fingers. Passive aggressive notes.

But the executives at the time had decided no, they weren't going to set up shop somewhere new, especially when the fire-happy little sods were still out there. There was enough trouble at the moment seeing as several people had been seriously injured and _somehow_, Umbrella was taking the blame for it. Because some health and safety standards hadn't been followed. For _shame_!

If they were regretting the decision to move Complaints and Logistics to Arklay, they were keeping suspiciously quiet about it. And deleting the multitude of messages, complaints, threats and tears from the staff that had had their perfect world so elegantly destroyed.

And that was just the start of it.

"We shouldn't be doing this."

Never a truer word was said, but at the time he didn't admit it. He was in enough trouble already.

"This is going to end badly. It always does. Look, let's pull over, turn around, go back to the city and forget we organized this meeting. Pass it off as a clash of schedules."

"Spencer wants that report."

"Then we…we fabricate it." Birkin leaned back, tilting his pale face into what was left of the light before the clouds took over the sky completely. Without even thinking he drew his leg up, planting the sole of his shoe against the dash board - his toes were twitching beneath the leather. Wesker hated himself for knowing that intimate little detail. "And we never have to see this godforsaken pile of crap ever again. Except in our rear-view mirror. And next year. Uh. If they don't tear it down. I hope they tear it down. Hnh."

Wesker shifted gear, mind ticking into overtime. The tones in Birkin's voice were beyond what constituted as normal for the mousy little man– if he was this worried being away from the lab then it was possibly time to stage an intervention. Not that he'd be doing any intervening himself, that was Annette's job – when William Birkin got nervous, he got sloppy. And when he was sloppy, his wife was distracted. Albert Wesker _liked_ it when people were distracted. Their mistakes were so much easier to exploit. He glanced at the man he'd once considered a friend, took in the stained lab-coat, the messy shirt. The speckling on his chin and the hollows of his cheeks, he wondered if Annette was feeding him, or if Birkin really was just…attached to the desk. His samples.

Wesker never once regretted his cut in pay or transfer to STARS. No way in hell. The jeep's engine strained as the hill became steeper, bringing him back to the present. "Fabricating a report is not something I'd recommend, Will."

Birkin made a face. "Stop it. Just stop, okay? I don't like it up here. Brings back too many memories."

"Will-" There was a buzzing, but he didn't pay it much attention. He was just frustrated – horribly so. "Will, I understand, but-"

"No. _No_ Al. You _don't_ understand it." Spittle flecked on the younger man's face, he was so worked up. "I am _this_ close to knowing what needs to be done. And suddenly I'm out here." Pause. Wild-eyed, intense stare at his ear, enough to make Wesker cringe. "Why are _you_ out here?"

Another shift of gear, but for both the car and his mind. The tarmac was getting steadily worse. He'd need to speak to Annette, regardless of the worry about their damned offspring, to hell with her delicate sensibilities about mummy and daddy – this was getting ridiculous. "_That_. Is none of your business."

"Really?" The expression was one of distaste, but there was a glint of perverseness in his eyes. "Do you swallow for Spencer, or do you spit?"

Wesker's retort was cut when something shot past the passenger's side, a moped, howling its way up the mountain without much of a care. The passenger on the back turned around – face obscured by the old fashioned helmet - and gave them the two finger salute. Not only did he have to deal with a PMSing Will, he had to deal with angry locals as well. Brilliant.

"Just fucking great." Birkin snarled. "I bet that was accounts. Have they moved accounts up here? I bet they have. Pricks. The lot of them."

"When was the last time you slept?"

"Does it matter? You've changed since you left and went to help the cops. You _used_ to be _cool_." Sullen. Childlike.

"If you don't shut up I'm going to throw you out of my car while it's still moving. I don't know what you're on, or what you've done to yourself, but this is getting ridiculous and to the point where even I can't take the abuse anymore. Think of the repercussions. Annette will kill me. Have some pity."

The mansion slowly came into view, just as brooding and malicious as it had been ten years ago. He didn't want to admit it, but he'd hated working there. He was just as uneasy now as he had been then, but then that could be because of who was breathing down the back of his neck. Spencer. And babysitting Will.

The suddenly _close_ Will, breathing into his ear. "Just hurry this up, okay? Okay. I have better things to do than be up here."

oOo

The carpark wasn't empty. It just _looked_ like it was.

She stood by the door and squinted in the light, ignoring the prickling of her skin or the rapid thump of her heart. There were the caretaker's two trucks – both scratched and dented, with one still attached to a trailer. He'd been hauling down two of the new stasis tanks needed on level three just the other day, right before the main lift was broken. Probably what broke it, come to think of it. Beside it sat one of the delivery vans from the city, complete with logo and looking as innocent as large white vans can look when not driven by perverts on the hunt for fresh meat. Her destination lay just to the right of it; a pile of boxes and what looked like computer parts; left there by the previous van before it had gone back to Raccoon.

The remaining delivery van obscured part of the forest however. Innocent, maybe. But still…_Do you want some candy, little girl?_

She was being watched.

The hairs stood up on her neck, ramrod straight, her ears pricked. Behind her the mansion muffled the noises of the labs and facilities' generators, and distantly she could hear the dogs, huffing about their pens. The caretaker, hacking away at something in the forest – at what, she didn't know. It didn't matter.

It was broad daylight, and incredibly warm for a day in May. And standing in the doorway of the building that had virtually been her home for the last week or so, Evelyn Jackson had never felt quite so frightened in her life.

Crickets had stopped chirping. There were no birds. It was bright, and it was cheerful, but the world filled her with an unease that could not be halted with common sense. Even the breeze felt skittish, tugging at her dark curls. Arklay was out in the middle of nowhere, so nobody except hikers would drop by – there was nothing to be frightened of.

_Just_…

"So, is he out there?" Came the jaunty cry at her back.

"_Balls_! Suzie!" Evelyn caught the side of the door, glaring at her co-worker with disgust. "Don't _do_ that!"

"Don't do what?" Her shorter and rounder companion was full of mock innocence, topped with a cherry-red bob of immaculate hair. Susan Vanderhilde wiggled her fingers and blew out her cheeks. "Ooooh, the scary man is going to get yoooouuu!"

Evelyn blushed, her freckles odd against the bright red. "Oh, _stop_!"

"You're too easy. Relax." Tottering on heels tall enough to be almost illegal, Susan went to the steps, but her hesitation was just as obvious. "It's just, y'know, us out here." But it didn't sound convincing.

"Then why is it so quiet?" Carefully making her own way down the steps, Evelyn looked around, scanning the horizon; the trees. She was ruffled and plain where Susan was crisp, but that was more due to circumstance than taste. It was difficult to make yourself pretty when you were sleeping under your desk. Beneath the paleness was the mark of exhaustion, stress, brought on by a trial separation and an attempt on her life – all the lives – of the reception and administration staff.

She swallowed the memory of fire and burning, along with everything else that had come with it, grimacing at its bitterness. Susan had enough tact not to say a word at the shadow that crossed the taller woman's face. In fact, she took this as her cue; straightening her shoulders and stepping out onto the gravel. "_I_ hear an engine. Pretty sure our little stalker doesn't drive."

"No, he just stands there and looks in windows. He caught Alex and Yasley from accounts, apparently." Came the mumbled reply.

Shock, widened eyes at the mention of gossip. "Why did I not hear this, _Mizz_ Jackson? You kinky _bitch_, were you watching-"

Evelyn went even redder. "Suzie! No! Oh my god, no she was in the bathroom crying about it! What was I supposed to do, leave her there?"

Waving her silent, Susan sauntered out to the van. "Yes. Now hurry up and help me with the packages before the components melt and our precious little computer wizard has a conniption."

"Um, of course, but-"

"No buts." Susan deftly unhooked the hand trolley from the back of the van, unfolding the ledge and setting it down beside her. "Help me load this piece of crap. And _stop fussing about Alex_. You fuss too much, Evie." She held up a chiding finger when Evelyn went to reply. "You've only been with us three months. You've not seen the extent of Alex's bullshit. That woman will eat you up and spit you out. She doesn't care about your feelings, if she's crying in the toilet it's probably because she couldn't entice tall dark and ugly between her legs too."

"I'm going to be sick."

"Be sick on your own time!" Susan snorted, doing a fair impression of their supervisor, before hefting the first box onto the trolley. "D'you think we can get this all on at once?"

The rumbling got closer, and finally a moped pulled into the drive, parking haphazardly by the much-neglected bike racks that were supposed to encourage company morale. The two women watched the people rush inside, carrying a couple of what looked like satchels – bags that were specifically made to carry things back on bikes, mopeds, any two-wheeler. Susan made a rude noise, sticking out her tongue. "Lunch express. Wish they'd crash and kill themselves."

"You don't mean that."

"I do." Something thumped in one of the boxes. They watched it with some suspicion, but when it didn't thump again, they put it down to something loose. "We are totally doing this in one hit, you're right it's damn creepy out here."

_Finally_, Evelyn thought. So she wasn't paranoid. Not completely. "Red Queen won't like it."

"And what's that overgrown calculator going to do? Report us to our superiors? Vincent couldn't give a shit and everyone knows Billings just comes down here for the free donuts. Not that we have many of _them_ nowadays." A pause. "Do you think the researchers come out of their holes when we leave? Well. You'd know since you-"

"I haven't heard anyone, I don't _know_ anyone. You are _not_ pulling me into another one of your sorties against the staff who were here _in the first place._ They have a right to be here. We're just borrowing level two until…until, I don't know, they fix our offices. _If_ they fix our offices. Um." Sometimes it was really raw being the new person. Not that she was even that new, her probation hanging over her head like a guillotine with all the trouble of late. Maybe it showed in her eyes, that constant panic. Evelyn hefted the next box and slid it into place, hearing the clink of metal and glass inside. Lab parts? Had they finished with the files? At last? Good news, finally. "…Please?"

"Ugh. For the last time, _nobody cares_. They just don't like the commoners like you and me." This one was heavy. They had to strip down the trolley and start over again, a fine balancing act. All the while they kept an eye out. There was a distant rumbling again, heavier and deeper this time, but neither woman could tell what it was. "Soooo if we should get back into our little haunted house, and if I decide to replace the coffee with decaf again, you'd better back me up, girl."

Evelyn grunted in reply. That little practical joke had not been well received, but she didn't feel she could chastise her friend for it – In a company as large and sprawling as Umbrella, friends were hard to come by.

The conversation lulled. The day was too hot to think, and with both of them dragging the overloaded trolley back across the gravel, there was almost-

Evelyn stopped, not knowing why. She could hear the rumble (car, definitely), feel the sun (too hot for May), smell the grass (Something sickly, something dead. Overtures of blood. Remember what it smelled like when they burned). But where were the birds? (Where did everyone go?) Looked over her shoulder. Caught a glimpse of something to their right. Something that drove the heat from her body. "_Shit_, Suze!"

"What?" Both twisted around, the trolley teetering without its support. "Fuck _me_! It's-"

And then screeching, blaring, tumbling – the black car swung into the carpark without heeding the fact that either of them were there. _Fuck_. With a strength Evelyn didn't know she possessed, she managed to haul Susan out of the way a moment before bonnet could catch them. The trolley at last fell, dinted by the bumper and spinning on a wheel as parts went everywhere. Bruised from where one of the boxes – oh, lab parts alright – had hit her in the calf, Evelyn swallowed down a string of curses and was forced down as Susan used her to get upright. Something was still tinkling around them – glass, _sod_, that would be Doctor Anno's junk probably – and the doors were swinging open-

Ah, _shit_. Goodbye job.

-door _slamming_ as Susan threw herself against it, her fist pounding the glass. "Watch where you're fucking going, fuckface!"

Balls, she'd cut more than just her leg. Tights torn, Evelyn struggled to her feet, thanking herself for wearing sensible low-heel shoes on something as treacherous as gravel. Dragging her hair out of her eyes, she fished for an elastic band in the pocket of her skirt, tied it back, and then winced at the grazes on her palms. It could be worse.

Well. Almost. There was a mousy man looking in absolute terror at Hurricane Susan who was now making very lewd gestures at him and the driver – who was unreadable behind dark glasses and currently trapped as his charge was now practically in his lap. The car had driven between them and the trespasser – _That's the fourth time this week, and in broad daylight, too_ – and with a quick glance at the logo, Evelyn felt a further sinking in her guts. Corporate.

"Susan?"

"You mousy little _prick_! Come the _fuck_ out here and face me like a _man_, cock-mongler or I'll damn well come in there and _drag you out_-" She tried for the door, but the sang-froid driver had engaged the locks. How he was keeping his cool when being pawed like that she didn't know.

"Susan!"

"Cowards! Fucking _cowards_! Try and run a couple of employees over, you after our life insurance? Hah! As if you _need_ it you greedy cun-"

"SUSAN!"

"WHAT?" And the rage was now directed at her. But Evelyn was too strung up to notice. Instead, she pointed at the now empty patch of forest.

"WHERE DID HE GO?"

"I DON'T CARE. I WANT A PIECE OF MISTER FANCY HERE AND HIS BLIND DRIVER." Slam went her fist against the glass.

Okay, this was getting stupid. And now the driver was forcibly pushing his passenger back. The man looked like he was about to have a heart attack as he found himself shoved up against the glass in front of his employee. Susan cackled gleefully.

The driver's side opened and the man wrestled his way out; wearing a uniform that was vaguely familiar and very un-Umbrella. It took a moment for Evelyn to realize it was that of the Raccoon police department. His escape – as cool and as apparently collected as he was – was marred when the passenger lunged for him again. Toppling, seeing what was going to happen, Evelyn found herself running around the front of the car and yanking the door open, catching an arm before he slid out completely.

She had no idea what to say. So she said the first thing that came to mind. "Um." It was not a very good battlecry.

"This is not a good day."

"I can tell. Hang on." Evelyn peeked over the top of the car as Susan continued to scream obscenities. Her shoulder blades itched; but the fact there was a third person here who had _some_ sense, she squashed the terror and called out. "Susie! Susie for God's sake calm down and pull yourself together!"

"_**No**_!"

"The sooner you do, the sooner we get back inside! And _we_ need them _alive_!"

"Thanks." Came the sarcastic reply below her. She glanced down at a pair of blue-green eyes that watched her over the rim of those ridiculous sunglasses. She'd seen kinder expressions on cats before they slaughtered mice.

"Someone needs to sign the chit." She grumbled. "_You_ ran us over. I've taken enough responsibility already for what happens up here – that delivery is going to have you or your friend's name on it."

"He's _not_ my friend." Pause. "Will! Will for-"

Another moan of terror from 'Will'. Possibly because now Susan had backed off. Finally coming to her senses. Scanning the area. "Evie?"

"My back's to the place, you tell me." With a grunt, she helped the driver out. "Watch your step, we have a trespasser on the property."

"I'll have you know I used to work here!" Came the shriek from the car.

"I don't think she meant you, Will." The man dusted himself off. He was a lot taller than her. Evelyn rallied what strength she had left as he faced her. "Trespasser?"

"He's almost as tall as you. Dresses shabbily. In white for some reason, could be a hooded jacket, I don't know. Dark hair, wears it long. Um." Suspicious now. "Are you from head office?"

"Not exactly."

Susan squared her shoulders. "Explain. Why. You. Tried. To. Kill. Us. Now!" She pointed at him. "After the bombing, you bastards left us-"

"Albert! Albert shoot the crazy bitch now! I want to go home! Take me home!"

The man pinched the bridge of his nose. "Can you restrain your companion, please? WILL. Composure. Thank you." And then the smaller man was out, and clinging to him like a lost child. Evelyn recognized the science type almost immediately – the dark circles under the eyes, vague fashion sense (that tie, what was he thinking?) and the stains on his fingers. She was lightly but firmly pushed aside, raked over by those cold eyes and then ignored. Damn her for wearing her nametag! And the officer stepped over the remains of the delivery, dragging the scientist with him. Susan, finally seeing him for what he was, went quiet and almost embarrassed as he regarded her. "From your tone of voice and explanation, I take it the pair of you are from client services?"

"Y-Yes." Susan started. She went to speak again, but the man held up a gloved hand.

"I'll ignore your behavior then and put it down to post traumatic stress syndrome. I'm sorry I was distracted. Fax the paperwork to the office of Annette Birkin, and tell her Albert Wesker sent it on. She will understand and contact your supervisor. Clear?"

"Crystal." Susan said, in her small voice usually reserved for burly firemen or handsome police officers.

_Oh balls_, Evelyn thought again. _Not _that_ voice. How many men now? And she calls Alex bad._ "Susan?"

"Yuh-huh."

"Boxes please."

Her gaze was firmly rooted on the two men making their way across the carpark, or more specifically, the officer's rear. She whirled back with a grin. How on earth could she do that when that guy had come back? "What was his name. _What was his name?_ _Tell me you got his __**name**_."

"Delivery first before that…thing…comes back. Then I'll see if I can jog my memory."

"Slag!"

oOo

The ride down wasn't quite so bad once they found the access lift, hidden behind one of the panels that the previous owner had been so fond of. A love of deathly viruses and puzzles, it must have been great fun and games up here before the two of them killed him – James Marcus. Doctor James Marcus. _Kill you for a penny, guv?_ Marcus. They were at least alone, and in the time it took to enter the place – not quite as shabby now people were paying attention to it – Birkin calmed down. "How does Kendra put up with these people? I mean really." He muttered, straightening his tie then licking his palm, smoothing his hair back.

"Considering they're doing all the cleaning and taking up Level Two, I think she should be happy. Her budget gets increased and nobody has to pay for maintenance."

"You should have fired those harpies."

_Damn_. Not the sulks again. "I'm not officially part of Umbrella any more. I had my cover to think of."

"Bollocks to your cover. I could have been killed!"

"I doubt they'd have done that, Will." He kept his gaze on the numbers, slowly counting up despite the lift going down. The blinking minus sign just kept on blinking. Just kept going. Once they hit the fifth floor – minus five, he corrected himself – he was only too eager to leave the lift and step into the crisp-

-slightly discoloured white floor and it's heavy-duty felted carpet in a checkerboard pattern of black and grey. "They haven't changed it since we left."

Birkin was far more at ease. "I'd forgotten you'd not been down here since you left for STARs. Why change something if it works so well?"

Wesker wanted to say that there were many reasons why things needed an update – security for one, he could have sworn that his profile was wiped off of Red Queen's database but she'd been too eager to let him in – but settled for something far more cutting instead. "I thought you wanted this over and done with."

"Well, I'm in my element now." He padded quickly into the branching halls, all quiet and leading off to the different labs. It was all so familiar. "And besides, Kendra _is_ a professional. Most of the time."

Kendra – Doctor Kanta Bhattacharya, or Kendra-B to the executives – had taken over Marcus' lab after the old man had died in a pool of his own blood and excrement. It had been one of the more satisfying jobs Wesker had done, but the fact that Marcus' favourite student had taken over and perched on his remains like some great big vulture wasn't exactly pleasant. But unlike many of the staff and rival researchers here, Kendra knew how to play the game.

The electronic lock was just the same as last time. Funny, that. He never took Kendra as being sentimental, but there we go. Wesker took off his sunglasses to let his eyes adjust to the gloom of the lab and the lit specimens of flowers he'd never seen before, laid out on tables and under microscopes. Machinery that he ached for. Fingers itching, he glanced around to see what else was on display, but apart from rack after rack of vials and flowers, the lab didn't have anything at all. Actually, it looked like someone had already been at the vials; two were missing, their empty sockets looking alone and forlorn.

It was still the same L-shaped room, steel and white laminate. The overhead lights were dimmed to allow the work to continue on cell structure he guessed, or whatever it was she was doing with the flowers. Spencer's _special little project_. Whatever it was, he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure he wanted to know – there were some things that were beneath even Wesker as far as research went. It had birthed the in-development T-Virus, Birkin's pet G project and plenty of interesting monsters including Lisa goddamn Trevor (a horror he never wanted to see again), but what anyone wanted to do with a bunch of dying flowers was beyond Wesker - there could be nothing more you could gather from these flowers, they were one breath away from dead.

"Boys!" Something detached from the largest microscope, a small, dark Indian woman with a bindi on her head that looked like a droplet of blood and her long hair was plaited back and arranged like a crown around her head; a decidedly European thing. There was no trace of her heritage in her voice, but then Kendra – despite her real name – was third generation American. The name was only, Wesker suspected, to appease elders. Like silk she drew close, sliding off her gloves with an air of great practice and dropping them in the trash, before sliding an arm through Birkin's cocked elbow, kissing his cheek and then smiling slyly at Wesker. "What brings you to my little corner of Arklay?" She cooed.

Birkin got bashful. "Spencer sent me. Al is just here as back up."

"I wish you'd said goodbye when you left." She wound away from Birkin, sinuous as a snake and twice as cold-blooded. The two of them eyed each other up, but Wesker found it hard to outstare a master such as Kendra, she had it down to an art. Especially when that manicured hand was placed against his skin. The nails bit for just a moment and his skin sizzled.

Ruffled, he slid his glasses back on. "I outgrew my place here."

"I can see that. You must have put on, mmm a couple of pounds at least. Desk job?"

He smiled down at her, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Nice to see the company funds going into growing orchids, Kendra. We'll make a killing on the gardening market."

Quick as lightning she was close, her lips against his. It was just a brief peck, but he was revolted. "How I've _missed_ your scathing wit. Thank you for dropping by, Albert. I'll take care of Birkin while you're here…Red Queen will guide him back to you once you're finished, mm?"

Such a dismissal. He contemplated contaminating some of her samples while her back was turned, but that was far too petty even for him. Birkin gave him a little wave over her shoulder, mouthing _I hate this bitch_ and then they were gone into the hissing quiet and half light.

_Sod this_. Wesker straightened his shoulders and left.

oOo

Birkin felt a thrill, looking down the microscope. This was amazing. This was fantastic. It was beautiful and he'd have given his right leg to be a part of it. "You have _no_ idea how jealous I am of you right now."

"It's still unstable." Kendra said tiredly from the brim of her mug of chai tea as she leaned against the adjoining bench. Its' pungent smell was delicious against the blooms. "I was surprised as anyone else when Spencer asked me to look into Marcus' research about it, but he was desperate."

"What are you calling it?"

"That's something I can't tell you, but Spencer of late has been referring to it as…_ugh_. The Wesker virus."

There was a pause. "You are _not_ serious."

"Mmm."

"_I_ wasn't being serious when I said…" He trailed off, horrified at the mental image of Wesker and Spencer. "Oh my God."

"Yes, well, Spencer fancies himself to be that." Kendra paused, having just picked up on the sudden change in tone to her companion. "Serious about what?"

"Nothing." Birkin said hurriedly. "But is it ready for testing?"

She looked at him for a moment – truly looked at him. Her gaze made his skin crawl, but he faced her down just the same. "He's been your friend for years." She breathed, in awe. "And you're happy to do this?"

"Al…He's a stepping stone, Kendra. He's Spencer's, from the ground up. Spencer gave me a home, he gave me a chance. He gave you a chance too."

Something darted in her eyes. Sadness. Betrayal. It was gone in a moment, but Birkin found himself feeling a little bit sorry. It wouldn't have mattered in the end because Marcus was on his last legs anyway, but…Kendra set her mug down, and walked to the vials. Picking one of them out, she looked at it in the light. It gleamed faintly, purple. Birkin was struck at how much it looked like G – visually, of course, he ached to get one under the microscope. "It's as ready as it will ever be, it's been matched to all the specifics Spencer required and Marcus set up. I send these out tonight." She said softly. "One of them is, of course, yours. The rest." A shrug. "Whatever Spencer's going to do with them."

"And the T-Virus?"

"Lab C is looking into that. My business is here, with Progenitor."

Birkin gave a low whistle. He was jealous, of course, but then they'd all had a stab at Progenitor. Kendra was the only one to have cracked it, or at least cracked it partially. He took the vial from her, placing it in the glasses case he'd squirreled out of his lab specifically for this purpose. Cold air leaked from the inside; a secret little refrigeration unit that weighed as much as a can of soda. Nifty. Spy-stuff. Birkin grinned like a kid. "What's its half-life?"

"Dies off fairly quickly. It's not airborne hence why it's outside. Transmitted via blood, so if a vial breaks, it'll be dead in a couple of minutes if left to the elements. I made sure that it wouldn't spread too quickly, as per orders. Will, I want to say I don't approve of this."

"Noted. Do you have a direct line to Spencer?"

A curt, professional nod. "Of course. He's waiting for us, actually."

"…Fuck. Okay. Let's get this over with."

**PRESENT DAY**

Someone knocked at the door.

Chris awoke from his doze on the couch. Jill lay beside him, curled like a child with hear head on his lap. The last he remembered he'd been stroking her hair. The towel over his legs was clean, she'd only been having stomach cramps and that was it. Another crisis averted. She looked tiny in one of his sweatshirts, weird with a string of drool, she was so far under. But she looked more human than she had in ages.

Carefully pulling himself free, he waited for Jill to settle down once more before going to the door, feeling a lump in his throat when he opened it.

Sheva Alomar hugged him tightly. For a moment they clung together, bound by a shared experience of madness. "Chris. Oh Chris. How is she? How are you-"

"Come in. Just be quiet, this is the first time I've gotten her to sleep properly in ages. I have to cook. Are you hungry?"

"Yeah. But-"

"Just something quick. I'm allowed to get groceries thank goodness." He slid into the kitchenette, cramped as it was, turning on the kettle. The water here was filtered, but he boiled everything by habit – heat killed off pretty much everything. "We're okay. We're going to be okay. It'll take a while, but we're gonna be okay." His eyes felt hot, itchy with tears that he wasn't allowed to shed.

She could tell he was having difficulties, and to her credit directed the conversation away. "What's the mission?"

"Search and retrieve with a bit of rescue on the side. Is Josh still out there?"

"Holding the fort in Kijuju, or at least what's left of it." Sheva chewed her lip, leaning against the bench top and watching Chris work the chopping boards and a bowl to make an omelet. As the smell permeated the room, making her stomach growl in the process, she heard Jill stir, and sit up. She was regarded with some suspicion, but when Chris tipped the concoction onto the plate, Jill was on it like a starving animal. "Easy there."

Jill glared at her and took the plate back to the couch, almost going back to her room. It was only Chris's clearing of his throat that stopped her. So she sat there. She ate. She licked her plate clean.

Sheva wondered what was going on behind those pale eyes. If they would ever make sense again. "Are we going back into that place?"

"We have a high backer. Someone from the board. No idea who it is, but someone who's possibly been burned by Wesker if this box is anything to go by." Chris peered at Jill to see if the name of their nemesis made any reaction, but it didn't. It never had. He'd just been an inconvenience, the pusher who had gotten her into this mess in the first place. "The file is sitting on the table there. No idea what's in it. Just a box."

"Samples? Another virus?" A gasp of horror. "Oroboros?"

"No idea. Just a box, and we spring the others out, I think. Clean up mostly. They're offering me an' Jill a way out. I have to fix her, Sheva." He clutched at the stove-top, shaking a little as the pan bubbled with the rest of dinner. "I owe her."

There was a clatter as Jill – when had she gotten up? – placed the plate beside him. They stared at each other, and Sheva wasn't sure if she should intervene. If she could. Jill moved slowly, touching the man's shoulder, his neck, drawing him into a one armed hug, before padding back into her room.

The door closed in what was almost a slam, locking shut.

It took a moment for him to speak again, and when he did his voice was very small, and very sad. "They come for her tomorrow. We need to be gone by then." He breathed, as he dished up the rest of dinner. Sheva took her plate gently, watching him.

_Here is a man I'm happy to follow into hell. I just wish he knew that._ "I'm ready when you are."

Chris gave her the first genuine smile she'd seen on his ugly mug for a fairly long time. "Thanks…partner."

-**To be continued.**

_Jill is going to come out of this okay. She's an addict who has had some bad blends and is looking for a pure fix – she will get better. It just might take a while._

_I've noticed that Evie bears a slight resemblance to another OC haunting the archives. Note that Evie is a great deal shorter, not exactly slender and has freckles. Alex is not the fabled Alex Wesker, but rather _Alexandra_, one of the office…uh…crazies? We all have them in the office. _

_I'm going with the whole 'Nobody has owned up to Progenitor/Mystery virus' plotline with Birkin working with Spencer. Hope that's okay. _


	3. Trust means nothing these days

_There is going to be some derogatory language in this chapter. It's used for effect as to what the character would say, not my own views. _

**PANDORA'S SONG**

**CHAPTER THREE**: Trust means nothing these days

**PRESENT DAY**

By dawn they were on the road.

This wasn't like last time. The mindset was different for one; a better idea of what they were going into, what they were going to see. Sheva had mentioned nightmares about black tendrils and glowing lights, Chris admitted the same although the person those tentacles came from tended to have a face.

_Awkward_.

The truck was fortified too; bristling with ammunition and all the weapons Sarton could lay his hands on in such short notice. It didn't feel like enough. The whole truck rattled every time they hit a pothole or a rocky section of the access road; Chris was doing his best to miss them but it was difficult. Still; pleasant to know they were well supplied. Getting the weapons through the checkpoint would be difficult once they reached Kijuju, but that was a bridge they'd cross once they got to it.

_If_ they got to it. Stranger things had happened.

The sun baked the earth. Despite the danger they were in everything was peaceful in the light; trees healthy, earth warm, the chittering of insects and, if he squinted just right – meerkats, playing on a hillock just upwind of him. _Damn_ he loved those little fuckers.

"Radio's going." Sheva's voice drifted out over the road. They'd pulled over for a toilet stop; one on either side of the truck and off the road. Chris had had a moment of contemplative stillness, almost catching his shoes when his attention went elsewhere. Namely on the baby meerkats currently playing in the dust. _D'awww._

Not wanting to take his eyes off the innocent scene, because he'd need it later in times of complete terror, he called back quietly. "How can you tell?"

"My ears are better than yours."

A pause. She wasn't going to get it. A moment of absurdity crossing his mind; Sheva with her trousers around her ankles, trying to get to the car. Failing. He allowed himself a little snort of laughter as he pulled his clothes up, tucked himself in and made for the car. The animals scattered.

It was Josh. "Where the hell are you two?"

Chris rolled his eyes. "We're about an hour away."

"An hour? You're kidding me-"

"We're coming by car, Josh." Sheva yelled over a thorn bush, but Josh continued regardless.

"-_what_? No way! I'm down two men. We're not going to be able to hold the operation down and keep an eye on the importers without some extra help. Stop fucking about and _get down here_."

"Josh-"

"_**Move**_, Redfield."

Movement in peripheral vision. Chris jerked back in surprise, and then scowled when Sheva seemed to appear out of nowhere, leaning on the bonnet of the vehicle. She gave him a brief, encouraging smile and nodded her head to the radio. "Y'know, if you keep us talking here we're not going to go anywhere, Josh."

"Sheva, you're breaking my heart."

"Hanging up." She sang back, getting into the car and pulling the receiver from Chris' unresisting hand. There was an explosion of expletives from Josh as it was shut off, silence restored. "Well? What do you think?"

"I think we should drive. If we don't he'll come and collect us. And that's the last thing we want." The engine rumbled to life.

Kijuju. How he'd never wanted to see that place again.

oOo

Jill had been sitting, cross-legged in the gloom, waiting for the inevitable. She wasn't sure what was happening, or where she needed to go. Fire traced her veins, her mouth was dry; and with what little self-control she had she was…waiting. Always waiting.

The light hurt her eyes, the blinds remained drawn. She knew it was day outside, but it didn't matter. She didn't care. She felt lost. Coming apart at the seams. She just needed a little more of it. Just a little more. Chris had said he'd get more. He would. He would for her. He was good, was Chris. Too good.

Bleary blue eyes blinked in the light. Anticipating. _Knowing_. There was a knock at the door.

She got up slowly, painfully, crossing the tiny floor of her room and waiting at the door that protected her from the outside world when Chris wasn't there. Protected her from the nightmares. She hated how hard it was to articulate the dread, or the silence, or the emptiness she now felt without the drugs – but even, to a point, without Wesker. There were some things she didn't want to tell Chris. Weird things. Things that would make a person think they were crazy-

(_Like music, like voices. Something tearing at her brain, trying to escape, but a thread, a tune, beautiful_.)

-but she wasn't crazy. Just needy.

The knock came again. Slowly, so slowly, Jill opened the door, keeping one arm securely around herself, steadying her shivering shoulders, and watched the door to the outside.

Always doors.

(_Doors inside your head, let me in, let me in_)

Swallowing, wishing she could _forget_-

(_Inside you, part of you, let me in, __**let us in**_)

The floor seemed so wide, pooled with oceans of gold from the light outside, coming in from the netted windows. The door so far away. But she had to open it. She'd promised Chris. She'd promised-

(Jill?)

It wasn't so wide. It wasn't so scary. The voice, different from the others, broke through the fog that crowded her thoughts, and suddenly she was there, looking through the keyhole into a face of a man she didn't trust, distorted through the fish eye lens.

(Jill, its okay.)

Not _this_ man looking back at her with bloodshot eyes and stinking of sweat. Someone out of sight. Distant, blurry and full of static between her ears, Jill opened the door, just a crack. Peered through. White coats. The BSAA emblem. Somewhere in her mind something screamed out GET THEIR ID DAMN IT but by now she didn't care. She opened the door. Looked for faces, ached for recognition.

A rush of movement; white coats had been hiding black-armoured guards. Jill yelped when they came through, Kevlar armour supple and so tough to get through – she kicked and thrashed, tried to scream but only made animal sounds as they brought her down. The rising tide of madness swept her up again, but there was nowhere for it to go, nothing to fight, nothing to kill. Unhampered by notions of rules, societal engagement, Jill Valentine-

(_**Let us in let us in let us in**_)

-became an animal, she hissed and spat at them through gritted teeth, searching the masked faces, trying to find someone, anyone to hurl abuse at, but there was nothing she could make out.

With a happy, disjointed hum, Sarton strode into the apartment, heels clicking on tile and wood. He seemed fussy in the light, peering at things as if in a museum exhibit. "Fascinating. You know in my day, they used to put us up in something much flashier."

Jill growled again from beneath the huddle of big burly men as she surrendered, the howling in her head stopping. The pain was still there, but not quite as…cutting? She still gasped, desperate for air. The voices focused on her, watched her through a magnifying glass-

(_**Be still**__. We are coming_)

-Commanding her. _Oh Chris. Chris where are you, make it stop_-

(Jill?)

Sarton took out a small pen case from his pocket, releasing the inner mechanism and revealing a syringe which he took out and examined in the half-light. Jill's nostrils flared, body on fire as she recognized the subtle scent, even from the bead of liquid that dribbled from the tip. Fear and anger became desire. She began to wriggle again, cursing and kicking when she could.

"Sir!"

Sarton stopped. Turned.

Jill stared at the other man standing in the doorway, or at least tried to – a shoulder was in the way, and part of a helmet. But like a magnet their eyes were drawn to each other; and there was a moment of…kinship? Recognition? His dark eyes softened when he saw her, and the wall of paranoia began to crack, began to release the tension that had been building inside her. The last time she remembered seeing him was back in Chicago - before Wesker went mad. Before Excella was extra chiding, and they were leaving on the plane to go to the holiday from hell.

"Maram." She croaked. Pleased? Fearful? What was she?

Sarton was not so pleased. "Oh for Pete's sake, man. We're trying to do a job here."

The man moved smoothly to his superior's side. "She's in an infected zone. She's open to suggestion. You have no idea what's going through her head right now and you do _this_ to her."

"Hey, _she_ attacked first."

"Henry, _please_." He was then beside her head, touching her skin with hands that were warm and smooth. Tanned skin. Dark curls, with a hint of grey. If her tastes didn't run to the muscular sort, Maram Tariq El-Amin would have been a man that Jill would have happily bedded in years past. "Jill, I need you to be still, and then they will let you go. But you must work with me. I have what you need. I can help you."

"Don't want to." She muttered. They were close enough for her to bite. She considered it. Just a twitch of her head, she'd catch a finger. Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips. _Yes_-

One of the guards firmly pushed him aside. "Sir, she may have antibodies but she could still be a carrier."

"I'll be fine."

"Health and safety-"

The touch was gentle, the connection fleeting. The guard moved back, giving Maram space.

Sarton swore, twitching. "Cut that psycho-shit out, El-Amin."

"I'm not doing anything." But he was. Jill couldn't understand the strange sense of calm that filled her, a welcome relief from the fear, soothing down the spikes and warming her up. His fingers rested lightly against either side of her face, and one by one the guards let her go as her body relaxed. "May I have the case?"

"No."

"Sir, I need it."

Sarton swore again, the case clanking in his hands as he looked around, not in control. It thudded against the sofa. Hissed when it opened. She could smell it, perfect P30. If she were alone, she would be all over it; but Maram held her steady with a touch as light as feathers.

"I don't like it when they get jumped up on this shit."

"It's a psychometric _drug_, sir." His voice stayed level as his hands moved again, this time off her skin, stirring the air around her. She could feel the warmth from his skin; he was kneeling right behind her head. Jill cracked open an eye, taking in the jawline, the trimmed beard. Felt guilty; Chris had been in the room only moments before.

(_But it's been so long_.)

(Focus, Jill.)

"Like any drug that works with the brain, it takes time to come off it. It alters the chemistry; take it away and expect no reaction? That's just careless."

"Speaking of careless, could you get on with it?"

Her arm was moving. Jill watched him wind something around her arm, tap the vein up. A moment later she was hissing, body curling as the needle went in. Welcomed it like an old friend, even if it had changed slightly. Or had she changed?

Did it matter?

Someone was lifting her up. Cradling her. Smiling, Jill let go of consciousness, fell into the warmth of release.

Watching the pale woman go under, Sarton scratched at his chin, his neck, his shirt, unable to relax. To breathe. The apartment was small enough; with the team and Maram it was suddenly a lot closer. And he couldn't get the smell out of his nostrils, acidic, painful, goddamn P30. Eyes as slits he looked at the Egyptian; not bothering to disguise his hatred. "My success is riding on her staying alive. Is she…she's not…?"

"No, I wouldn't say she's _connected_." The word was heavy on his lips. "But then I'm not a good indicator, either, sir." Maram watched her, still touching her shoulder despite a man twice his size holding her. "She might still be broadcasting even if her infection was halted. It could be loud enough to alert someone…"

"It's fucking creepy." Sarton said coldly. "Keep monitoring her. I want you to take her to Site E, lock her down."

Curls bobbing, Maram nodded. "I understand." A pause. Eye contact. "Are we alerting Kendra that we have Miss Valentine in our possession?"

"I imagine…" The mousy-haired researcher snapped. "…that she already _knows_. The _Queen_ knows all. Or have you forgotten your _place_ you filthy little upstart _freak_?"

"Sir." Grumbled one of the guards – mission or not, if this was going to get ugly and start getting discriminatory, someone was going to have their arse kicked. Henry Sarton was a favourite as far as arse-kicking was concerned; he had few friends in the company with his attitude towards anyone below his station and the inferiority complex with the remaining staff above him when inside the labs. That and his precious goddamn plants.

Maram gave the guard a brief, almost understanding smile. "We go back a long way." A predatory smile, now, just for Sarton. "All the way back to Arklay. Remember, sir?"

"I _remember_ you bastard." Quieter now. "I'll never forgive you."

"Arklay?" Someone else asked, but then another, quicker on the uptake, elbowed him in the side.

"Shut the fuck up."

"Let's move out before someone else decides to drop by." Sarton packed up the case, and strode out. It was more of a flounce, really. Maram shook his head and broke the connection he had with Jill, felt her finally sag. A moment later his own knees went weak, and someone offered an arm. He took it, gratefully.

It always took it out of him, using the source. Had to be careful. Too much would reignite the infection. But for now…Fishing around in the pockets of his jeans, he found a little cigarette lighter made of metal; pressing the bottom and having it slide out like a pez dispenser. The little green pill was rolling around on his tongue when someone handed him a leftover beer from Chris' dinner, the night before. It was icy cold, he took it, looked at it. Heard the echoes of his mother berating him for wanting to drink with the other kids, felt that tiny twinge of guilt. But he'd made peace with his God a long time ago when it came to things he wasn't supposed to do. Otherwise why was he here? The cap was popped off and he took a swig.

It was icy cold. Maram had grown to enjoy African beer. It took the edge off so much these days.

Sarton's voice floated back from down the hall. "_Now_, please. Or have you forgotten where we are? How exposed we are? Christ almighty, faggots, _move_."

Maram set the beer down, rolling his shoulders. Sighed. "I really hate that man."

**ARKLAY, MAY 9, 1998**

Kendra called them down when her guests had left; sorry, _guest_, the other one was badgered the moment he stepped onto the premises and followed around doggedly until he left. She wasn't sorry. Anyone called down to Level 5 was in for trouble. Anyone _that_ popular with the monster makers was trouble too. It had almost been embarrassing.

And things had been going so _well_.

Evelyn sat on the edge of the platform where she'd been working since coming back into the safety of the complex; scanner in hand and frowning fiercely at the boxes that sat there, willing them to disappear. At least they'd stopped being ferried up here, yes, but someone still had to put them _away_. The forklift continued to purr beneath her. It was pretty much the only thing strong enough to lift all the paper Umbrella went through. Tough little thing, it was. At least they'd fitted the platform with a guardrail. Umbrella was decidedly lax with health and safety and it was likely to remain that way – the last time Evelyn had brought it up at a general meeting, she'd been served a warning and told to go and shove it – in the most politically correct and company policy-style way.

Namely a threat of firing.

She – and the forklift, and anyone else on hand who had not gone off sick, or transferred, or bolted never to be seen again – were setting up the new filing and information system for the company in the bowels of Arklay. This had been one of the old labs; high ceilings and harsh lighting, now it had tracks set into the floor and the massive metal cases that would trundle back and forth with all the data her employer had. The whole place, despite being clean and scrubbed and thoroughly doused with disinfectant still felt a little wrong.

She just had a feeling. A funny feeling. Any minute now-

"Evie." Raised voice, questioning. She out across the vista of steel cages, flustered administration staff and a single researcher who was very red in the face and shouting wordlessly at some poor – scratch that – some very bored looking person who clearly did not have time for this. If memory served correctly, it was the researcher everyone called 'plant guy'. Nobody could remember his name, he didn't do anything particularly important, but _damn_, he loved plants. Well, everyone had to love _something_.

Coming towards her was Vincent Hall, the manager of managers and at the moment one of her favourite people in the world. He raised a hand in greeting, and she did the same. He jogged up, frowning a little too. "Got a problem. The illustrious Queen B requests the presence of a pair of villagers for a top secret mission."

"How secret is this mission?" She asked. It was a game with the admin team to stay sane working in a company such as theirs - one that mystified the researchers, and the CEOs to the point where words had been said about not taking things seriously enough.

Hah-ha, if only they _knew_.

He winked. "So secret I shouldn't even be telling you."

"Ah. One of _those_ secrets." She grabbed hold of the handrail, leaning into space and called down to the driver who was – _still_ – lazily reading a magazine with his knees resting against the wheel. Amazing they hadn't crashed yet "Kevin, could you let me down?"

The man grunted; flipping a page with one hand and juking the control with the other. The machine rumbled to life, beeping fiercely as the platform dropped, almost knocking her off. Vincent was there just in time to steady her, and she hopped off, embarrassedly pulling down her skirt. "Kevin!"

He shrugged. Smacked gum noisily.

Trotting in Vincent's wake back to his makeshift desk, she pocketed the level 5 clearance card with a warning – "Don't let this out of your sight. We are not supposed to have it, but they still want us to go down and sort out their crap. Mouse made it for me. If you get caught, nobody knows about it; you found it, okay? We shift the blame onto one of their university graduates."

Evelyn nodded. Standard practice. "Who's coming down with me?"

Vincent grimaced. She knew that grimace. "…Alex." Her bright eyes narrowed, questioning. "I can trust you to get the job done. I just need her out of the library for a bit."

"What's happened?" A pause. "Wait, can I ask that? Or is it managerial stuff?"

He chuckled. "Managerial. But mostly _managing_; which is a bit different. Sniping. I have enough issues outside the team than inside it."

Susan, again. She nodded. Alex was okay, when not having one of her panic attacks. "Level 5. Kendra's lab. That is…"

"End of the corridor. Look for the one without airlocks – it's…getting late so nobody will be pushing anything fancy around."

Evelyn nodded. 'Fancy' was the code for 'things that could fucking kill you'. It had happened twice on trips down to the lower levels; and those people involved sworn to secrecy. As far as the teams here were concerned, and that was everyone who did the admin work for ordering, the customer service lot, even two delivery drivers – Umbrella was a pharmaceutical company that dealt with all sorts of things, but definitely not weaponry and bioengineering was _clearly_ illegal and nobody could do that anyway. Hah! Apart from the noises once you reached level four – and sometimes came through when it was really quiet up the venting systems – Evelyn had been present at both sightings; the first because she'd been there at the wrong time when the thing had been moved and most clearly dead – an animal that was all scales, and teeth and tail – _Hunter_, they called it – and the second time because she'd been quiet and there had been a missing document and something got out…it was blurry. There had been safety glass between them, and…_well_.

It had been one of Doctor El-Amin's. And Maram T. El-Amin was a softie at heart despite what anyone thought. His creations would only ever be marketable to consumers of the pet variety. He was probably tolerated in this hotbed of creative violence because of his expertise at gene coding – his creations were seamless. He caught a lot of jealous flack for that.

"I shouldn't ask, but are you sure this is okay?"

"Alex was requested. Probably because it's going to be delivered and that woman can scam a free delivery out of anyone."

"Hah."

"That and she's probably scared of Kendra."

Peering past Vincent, she looked to the waif coming towards them, messy brown hair, light brown eyes and that little-girl-lost look that had many a man here taking a second glance. Alex gave her a faint, dreamy smile and a half wave. Hard to believe she had been crying her eyes out and in hysterics yesterday. Evelyn sighed.

oOo

"Thanks for coming down with me."

"No worries, Alex."

"This whole place creeps me out." Alex spoke to give life to the walls; as the further down into the ground they went, the quieter it became. It was so _still_. The lift ride had been tense too – they never talked much, and Evelyn wasn't sure what to say…so Alex filled the space for her. "Are there really monsters here?"

"I have no idea." Evelyn lied.

"You hear things sometimes. I hear things a _lot_."

"I'm sure it's nothing to worry about." Here on level 5 things were very different – it was quiet, cool. A little stuffy. Evelyn rubbed her fingers against the pass card thoughtfully as they left the safety of the lift, passing the access stairs to their right. "They do things down here, lots of…um…experiments, but considering half of the researchers pretty much live on the premises, I think it's safe." A stressed chuckle. "They'd hardly keep anything dangerous where they'd sleep!" At last, an actual conversation! This wasn't as awkward as she thought -

"…My boyfriend sleeps with his gun."

And the conversation ended. _No Evie. You are not awkward. You just work with awkward people. _

But Alex didn't seem to mind. She hummed to herself, not really paying attention, every step of hers being two steps of Evelyn's, hurrying to keep up. The doors were all shut, the hallways empty, branching off in a maze full of…what? Her mind drew a blank.

Kendra's lab was easy to find, the door strangely out of place with the technology Umbrella used to keep its secrets at bay. Evelyn was nudged out of the way as Alex stood on her tiptoes to look through the glass. Evelyn shot her an annoyed glance, then chided herself for not being patient. This was just what Alex did – Evelyn was the new person here. She had to get over this new person thing, this was getting ridiculous.

"Why won't the door open?"

"Hang on."

"Open it."

Evelyn rolled her eyes, swiping the card. It didn't work the first time, but on the second attempt, the door beeped them through. The lab beyond reminded her of a high school lab; except with the flowers everywhere – dying flowers.

"Pretty!"

"Don't touch anything."

"Don't tell me what to do." Alex snapped, her voice turning harsh. Somewhere there was a clatter – Alex wasn't spooked, but her companion certainly was. Evelyn turned to scan the darkened lab for a sign of movement; something that would own up to the noise.

Was there movement around the corner?

What was that smell?

"Hey Evie, these flowers are sick, shouldn't they be outside?"

"I don't know, Alex. Hush a sec'" Evelyn breathed back. Another quick scan of the room as she took a step forward; the down lights made it hard to see. Racks of vials to her right; partially packed. Tape. _Scissors_. Her hand drifted up to rest against the bench, within reaching distance of the scissors.

Anyone else would think that this was slightly paranoid.

But since the trial separation that was now probably a _genuine_ separation, Evelyn had been sleeping in one of the empty offices on level three. Nobody cared because nobody used it. But there were noises, and there were shadows, and it was getting harder and harder to explain the circles under her eyes…

"Evie? What's wrong?"

_Oh shut up_. "Alex? Hush. I hear something." Tense. Strained. Why wasn't this silly woman aware of her surroundings? _No, no, you used to be like that. Come on, come on, be patient, or get the scissors __**what the fuck was that around the corner**__-_

Alex peered over her shoulder, leaning into her, pushing her forward in the process. "Oh my god, _what_."

Heart pounding in her throat, Evelyn jerked herself violently aside and went to grab the scissors-

"_Ladies_." Tension eased. Someone stepped into the light.

"Holy shit, Evie, it's just Kendra." The curly-haired woman groaned, and went back to looking at the flowers again. "Hey Kendra. Kendra, your flowers are dying. Why are they dying?"

"Hello." Came the tired, if vaguely annoyed reply. Those dark, piercing eyes raked over the pair without stopping, evaluating and testing them. Kendra didn't know them personally, that was fine. But everyone knew her. Everyone had to know her…

…She looked ruffled. They were stupid details that came up in Evelyn's head and she couldn't stop them. Why did she look ruffled? _Everyone sees Kendra. Everyone knows she's one of the most social of the researchers, she does make an effort and she funds the lunch express that Lillian and Chang do for us to the city. So why's her shirt buttoned up wrong and what's with the skirt?_

Pause. Whoops._  
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_Speak, Evie._ "Hi, um, Doctor Bhattacharya." Stay on her good side. Vincent had always said she preferred the underlings to be respectful. And pronounce her name right.

"I presume Vincent sent you?"

"Uh-huh?"

And then the smiles, and the dainty steps around the main bench top, hands on the box, fixing the box, completely…_calm_. "Wonderful! I just wasn't expecting you so soon…Alex was it? Mmm…I remember you." Kendra made it seem like she gave a damn, but her smile was also worn by big things with sharp fins under the waves. "The flowers are a very rare breed of orchid from Africa. They're a pet project of mine at the moment while I wait for my next project to get a patent. We can't take them outside…they are so fragile. But they are so, very, beautiful."

Okay, that was genuine. Evelyn couldn't still the beating of her heart however, and the adrenaline continued to make her mind race. "Is this the package?"

"Yes. Sadly we lost two of the vials in packing it…but this…" She patted the 'box' as she finished packing it, slotting each vial into place and then sealing the whole thing with a hiss. "Is a special device. As you can see all of them are cooled by the platform they're on…this is an express delivery to HQ in Raccoon City. The courier is on his way…Just take it up for me, he's got his orders."

"Sure! Oooooh this is heavy-"

"I'm here, I'm here."

"Keep in mind that this is incredibly important. No sticky fingers, ladies. And almost certainly do not drop it – this is one of Umbrella's most important creations and will be signed by the CEOs themselves. Do not make a mistake or you will answer to me." Kendra turned to leave, but paused, hand up, fingers twitching. "…ahhh, yesss…Evelyn, _that's_ your name."

"Yes, Doctor Bhattacharya."

"Congratulations on remembering _my_ name and making an effort. Try not to do anything stupid; I believe you're on a warning."

Alex gasped. "_Really_? Oh my _god_-"

_Balls_. Now she would never hear the end of it. "I understand."

"Good. It is rare when we have competent, watchful staff. But watchful staff can sometimes see too much, don't you think?"

Their eyes met. What was she trying to tell her? Evelyn swallowed. Nodded. "Of course. We'll take care of this, Doctor Bhattacharya."

Kendra tilted her head, and smiled. "Wonderful."

oOo

They had to take the access stairs.

They could have waited. In hindsight, they probably should have, but the delivery needed to be done, and someone had clogged the lift with gear. The service lift was still out of order – the guy wasn't coming in for another couple of weeks – so the poor, innocent personnel lift tended to be filled with equipment that was shuttled back and forth between the floors and that could take a while – especially when things got stuck.

Alex complained all the way.

"You're not holding it right."

"Give me a second, Alex."

The stairs hadn't been tended to for awhile. Like much of the lab complex it was bare walls and a serious problem with cobwebs, damp, and the goddamn leeches that tended to be all over the place here. The lights that were installed were dirty, but at least provided you with more than enough light to see.

"It hurts!"

And she was starting to see why Susan hated her so much. Pouting, irritated, grumbling under her breath. Maybe Alex didn't realize how annoying this was, maybe she did, but – "Alex, hold on to it."

"I don't want to fucking _do_ this anymore." Twitch, rattle, the vials jumped in their holdings, hitting the inside of the crate. "I didn't sign up for this. Any of this. Why are we even up here?"

And they had two more floors to go before reaching ground level.

"You were on holiday, remember?" Evelyn shifted her weight from one leg to the other, trying to get a better grip on the damn thing. The box felt slippery to her numb fingers, heavy. "You weren't there."

"Yeah, but, uuggggffhhh this I'm going to drop it. This is manual labour."

"We can set it down. Just hang on-" Why had she offered to go up first? Oh, that's right, because there'd be complaints. There'd be-

Alex let go.

Alex. Let. Fucking. Go.

The bottom dropped, jerking Evelyn forward in mid-step. The office ditz shrieked as she did so, almost tripping down the stairs herself – and these were concrete stairs, peeling paint on metal handrails, old and unforgiving.

The dark haired woman couldn't stop her tumble, the wind knocked out of her when she crashed against the crate, went over it – shoulder first, the pain bright, and somehow she remembered to tuck her head in as she flipped, and then her hips hit the stairs, and a shoe fell over the edge and _she was still going down_, like a _kid_, only _this wasn't fun_, this was her tailbone screaming, _hello_-

"AHHHHHH-AHHHHHHHHOHMYGODAHHHHH-"

-But it was _okay_, because she hit the next landing, sprawled on all-fours as the crate tumbled down after her, the lid, the insides holding, the weight of the cooling unit helping it to gather momentum. It hit the landing, kept sliding, the glass rattling inside – No, no, don't let any of them break! – and she lunged, catching it before it went any further, down the next set of stairs, to the next and the next-

_Shut up shut up shut up stop screaming_

-but the lid was loose; the tinkling _different_. Adrenaline helped Evelyn pull the box out of harm's way but something shot out the bottom – one of the vials. It leapt like a salmon. Wanting freedom.

Evelyn lunged. And somehow her hand was around the glass. Somehow she was holding onto it. But not holding onto the ground, not paying attention. The grip of her other hand, sweaty with nerves, wasn't as good on the edge of the next set of steps.

So she went over again.

"_Evelyn_!"

Her head cracked against the stairs as she rolled sideways, reaching, scraping, twisting to slow her fall, and she was aware enough to fling out her arm. Hook it around the rail, body grating against the edge of the stairs, head spinning. Her shirt had ridden up; the grazes up to her shoulder blades burned with frightening intensity. Hissing through her teeth-

(Bad girls get punished, Evelyn)

-Evelyn forced her eyes open; aware of the new pain as Alex ran away, up into the half-light of this mould-stained, damp-smelling spiral of awfulness. Stared at the mess of her right hand where a whole vial had been only moments before, somehow distant in the empty space it was in. Liquid dripped from her fist; the ends having dropped off and shattered several floors below. The pink, viscous fluid coated her skin; marbled with red from her palm. Afraid to move, afraid to see the damage, the woman could only think about the burning there; the white hot shards of glass that were buried in her flesh. The burning through her entire body.

But no alarms.

Why was she thinking that?

_Because you've seen the files. You know what they do here. This could be…anything. _

But…no alarms.

She closed her eyes, shivering. Feeling shock starting to set in.

"Evelyn?"

Thank goodness. Vincent's voice spiraled down from above, his steps heavy as he ran to find her. She tried to raise her head. "H-Here." She managed. Sweat dripped from her brow. "The crate-"

"I'm going to kill her." Big hands gripped her, helped pull her in to safety, solid ground. "Oh shit, _Evie_. Someone get a first aid kit-"

More people. "Don't open her hand. Not yet."

"What was in that?"

"No idea. Head office wanted it, marked for the CEOs."

Hands helping her up. Panic made her still and quiet; this was her writing hand she'd messed up. Motion, agonizing minutes. Evelyn could feel the beat of her heart all the way to her hand, each beat driving out some of her blood, turning the wretched stuff redder and redder. Eternity passed and in that eternity she could not scream, she could not move. Just wait. Just wait while the world burned, and the heavens died and _the pain remained_. But they returned, and they came with a cool breeze, the smell of paper, oil. Towels now; someone holding her shoulders, bracing her as a bright green first aid box was put down, and someone else was gently cradling her hand.

"Hold still." A pause. Eric, she remembered. One of the repro guys. Holding her tightly; from here she could see the tribal tattoo peeking out from his collar. His face was grey under his tan, eyes wide. "Want something to bite? H-here."

She nodded, not trusting her voice. Just kept dragging the air in and out of her lungs, staring at the fluid as it became redder and redder. Then something was twisted, put into her mouth, fabric, tea towel? She bit down hard on it in readiness, wanting to close her eyes but too frightened at the same time.

Vincent sat in front of her, face calm, but sweat beading his brow. The landing was full of people now, but their faces were a blur in her panic. "Hold on, Evie. Hold on. Someone find out what this was. If it's bad, find the person who made it, find the antidote-" And then he pried apart her fingers and Evelyn bit down the scream, the sensation was a white-hot whip across her entire body.

They held her so she couldn't thrash about. Held her tightly, painfully; her spine and hips fought with her hand for domination where pain was concerned. Then her teeth. She twitched, body wracked with spasms as he worked, picking out the large pieces, then trying the small-

"-She's in ribbons, we need a medic-"

Drumming shoes. Voices. Panic. She wanted to vomit in terror.

"-here, water, drench it, tighten something around her wrist, she's bleeding too much."

"Tell me this is not T, El-Amin." Vincent sounded weak. "_Tell me this is not fucking T_."

T? What was T? Why was Doctor El-Amin here?

"No. Hold her! Still! Thank you! No." Maram steadied Vincent's hands as cold water was poured over her hand, the bottle through strange reflections over her face as the light shone through it. Things floating in her vision as her heart pounded. "Performance enhancer is what's on the system. Don't know much about it. But it's not what you think it is, no."

"Do we have any morphine?"

"This is not a medical lab. And I wouldn't mix morphine with this anyway, she's going to have to ride it out – we have no idea what it would do when it acts with the serum."

"Shit. I'm sorry." Vincent sounded sick, his dark skin helping him to blend into the walls with her swimming vision, but his presence against her legs was welcome as the light slowly went out. "Evie? How you feelin'?"

_How do you think I'm feeling? _

"Everyone back off!" He called out suddenly as he pulled back. Ah, so it hadn't been going _poetically_ dark, people had been crowded for a good, honest sticky-beak. Eric's heart was pounding by her ear, he stank of fear. Mundane fear. Not understanding what had happened, only that someone had fallen. _Actually, that was important too_, her brain told her_. In case you haven't noticed, you've skinned your back, cracked your hips and shoulders and your head._ Second thoughts piped up. _Not my tattoo. I _love_ my tattoo. If I've lost that she's fucking paying for a new one._

Third thoughts: _You've just had an unknown serum put into you completely by accident by someone you know you can't trust and you're thinking about a fucking tattoo you got when you were drunk? You were 16. You thought it was awesome. It's a tramp stamp- _

(Filthy girl. Bad girl)

_-and you know it. If you've lost it, Alex has done you a favour. _

Doctor El-Amin – just out of her swimming vision – was talking to someone on his walkie-talkie. A moment later looking up. "Everyone, if you've been in physical contact with this – not the box, you idiot, the actual liquid – go to Level 3, Smith and Harrison are waiting for you with the scanning equipment. Someone shut this crate up its lost enough cold already."

He spoke as he pulled the glass out with tweezers. He was wearing thick gloves; not a good sign.

_In fact that's a very bad sign. Priorities, Evie. _

"Mate." Eric said, his voice deep. "Mate, I'm not-"

"I know. It's okay. Just hang on; keep pressure on the cuts and let me get the glass out of her first."

_All of it, please_. Evelyn thought. It was starting to itch. Did that mean nerve damage? Or something else?

"We can check you out once this is done. But right now, she is a priority." El-Amin was regaining control of himself. Her heels drummed the concrete as she strained against the pain, head pounding. Someone was wiping something against her brow, something cold. Cherry red. Susan. "More water, please."

"Evie, you with us?" Eric asked again. She forced her eyes open against the torrent of white fire that the itching was rapidly dissolving into.

The water hurt more than the glass. It found its way into all the slices. Pushed them open further. "Okay. Almost done." Movement behind her. The crate finally leaving; four people now for safety. "The driver will be here in about twenty minutes. Get upstairs and get it signed, sealed and delivered. We've lost…one? Or is it two?"

"Two." Someone called out. "Inside one of them's cracked."

El-Amin was thoughtful as he pulled out another piece of glass, lightly pressing the towel against her hand again, making Evelyn shiver. His efforts were rewarded – it came back bloody, but shining with shards. "That's okay. The majority will have to suffice, there's no reason why we can't manufacture more if the trials work out." El-Amin looked to Vincent, smiling faintly. " Don't look so worried; Kendra should have told you what she was sending up. What was she thinking?" Pause, more tinkling. Glass on the floor. "She's responsible."

"She's Spencer's pet." Vincent growled. "She does what she likes."

"True. Okay. Evelyn? I think we're done."

She didn't let the gag go. El-Amin moved away, let Susan bandage her hand, Susan, who was shaking, her mascara running. Now she spat it out. "Susie? Susie."

"Watched you fall. Oh Evie." She whispered.

"Stay awake, please, Ms Jackson." El-Amin said gently. "I need you to stay awake. Focus on us, please. You may have a concussion-"

Easier said than done. She licked her lips, tasting iron, tasting blood. "'kay."

Next time, it would be worth waiting for the lift. Very worth waiting.

**-to be continued**

_Come on you knew this was going to happen. You knew it. But don't worry, it's not going to go quite to plan. I am not following the usual Infected!OC path. Honestly. Uh. I think. Well, you be the judge – as I've said in the past, pull me up for it, it's what I'm here for. Otherwise, onwards! _

_Also, normally I prefer to dovetail the present and the past together with this fic, or at least that's the plan, but I'm at 12 pages now and I sort of just want to post it. Sorry for being long-winded and dramatic with Evie. Canon characters will be appearing more, I promise. Secrets will slowly be revealed as well.  
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	4. Roadtrip Microscope

_I'm sorry I'm being so secretive so I'm letting a few things slip in this chapter. ALSO. We have a Jill/Chris/Sheva love triangle (mm, tension) one-sided young!Excella/Wesker (she's too good to pass up in fic), Wesker/Oc (which is incredibly complicated and I will shoot them both if they don't stick to their parts) The other relationships will be secret until I reveal more; mostly because my mind was blown at the idea of it, but not in a good way. More like WHY DID I THINK THIS UP. WHY. _

_This fic was originally an experiment to see if I could write a convincing partner for Wesker that would not draw the ire of fandom. I will be honest with you and say from the drafts I currently have I do not know, but half the fun is trying. It has developed from there. Which sucks. Because it means more research, and I need to stop browsing the Resident Evil wiki and bringing out old obscure characters. _

_SO MY WARNINGS: More bad language, implied surprise!tentacle sex, Chris starting to crack and Evie gets re-classed as meat. Joy. Do we have cute furry animals in ResE or are they just food for everything else? Oh, and a new character._

_Mind out for flying body-parts, this might get ugly. _

**PANDORA'S SONG**

**CHAPTER FOUR**: Road trip/ Microscope

**PRESENT DAY**

On the open road it was very hard to be ambushed. It was very hard not to know someone was coming considering the massive dust clouds in their wake. Sheva had taken over the driving while Chris prepped the weapons, mentally going over what needed to be done.

Sheva watched the clouds approach.

The sky was darkening with thunderclouds. The storm wouldn't come yet, but when it did it would be a true monsoon; the air had become thick to breathe it was so hot and damp. She had childhood memories of rain that obscured everything, the ground awash; everyone reaching higher ground…The premonition made her knuckles pale as she clutched the wheel. "Chris."

He didn't answer.

"Chris?"

A grunt.

"Chris we need to talk."

"Gimme a second." He responded although his voice was slurred slightly, and Sheva glanced at the rear-view mirror to see him with shotgun shells _held between his teeth_.

"CHRIS."

Into his hand they went. "We're on a smooth patch."

Sheva shook her head, disgusted. "You know, I have been reading up on you and your friends, and all I can say is does this make you so…_relaxed_ around death?"

"You know, you need to meet Leon." He pumped the mechanism, slotting the slugs into place. "_Sheva_. I'm a professional."

"Hah. Troublemaker more like. Everywhere you go, people die. Look. Look ahead."

The pause a was a little too long. "I see it." He said casually and clearly not looking.

"No you don't." She bit her lip. The road was starting to get bumpy again. "Those clouds. We need to be out of here before that hits."

"It's just rain."

"The monsoon is not _just rain_, Chris. It'll flood the access road – we'll be stuck there. Try to think about that."

He blinked. "It might stop the spread of Majini. Oh! But giant crocodiles." Sheva nodded, attention distracted by that look of innocence on his face. It was almost endearing were she not so angry with his lack of care, and it was only at the last moment that she noticed a glint on the horizon. The glint coming rapidly closer. "You know, I don't think they came on land because they were so heavy. Because if they decided to-"

"SHIT."

She swerved; the truck bearing down on them at breakneck speed. The wheels momentarily locked, spun as she swerved in the gravel, shooting off the road. There was a moment of awful confusion, pinned to her seat as the jeep shrieked protest at the change of scenery; behind her Chris whooped as he held onto the ceiling, shells and bullets spilling everywhere- "GOD**DAMN** I HOPE I REMEMBERED TO PUT THE SAFETY ON."

"RARRRGHHHH." Was Sheva's response, which was in fact quite eloquent considering she was driving through two meter high thorn bushes, low hanging acacia trees and horrifically aware that at any moment she would either be hitting a rhinoceros or driving into an elephant. Either way they were screwed. The nightmare ride was made that much worse with the crashing in the back – Sheva couldn't risk taking her eyes off the world in front of her, but she could hear the blaring of a horn as the truck, the _massive_ goddamn truck, what _was_ that, a road train? Out here? It just kept _coming_-

Sheva threw her weight against the wheel, hearing the axels screech in process and the wheels mounting logs and rocks with difficulty as the jeep tried to turn. A moment later Chris was there, pulling with her and finally it gave, the jeep shooting out of the thicket and into-

"FU~UCK" Came the unladylike scream. But Sheva was fast; and the brakes were on, just in time.

The jeep at last came to a stop, just before hitting a copse of tangled, diseased trees; the engine making soft popping noises of protest, the undercarriage creaking.

"Huh." Chris said, sweating fiercely, but with the light of life in his eyes. "What just happened?"

"Some idiot didn't see us. Doesn't explain why he followed us off the road."

"You _were_ looking, right?" He teased.

She slapped his arm. "Can you be serious, just this once please? We almost died."

"I'm plenty serious, we've just got some awful stuff up ahead and I want to get it out of me before…_ohhhhh_ heads up." He pointed. Sheva frowned.

Crawling out of the bushes, torn to ribbons but clearly not caring, the man stared at them with wild eyes before throwing his head back and howling. Chris was a flurry of movement, kicking open the back and unhooking the safety off the first thing he could pick up before blowing off the Majini's head. It didn't even have time to split, but the parasite keened as its host died, and a moment later if flopped out too looking vaguely reminiscent of the tapeworm from hell.

"You'd think one of them would learn how to drive." Chris observed quietly.

"Let's check the truck."

"Let's _not_ check the truck. It's a hot day. Whatever's in there won't make it."

Sheva considered this as two more 'people' lumbered out, looking at them through bloodshot, messed up faces. One was even missing an arm. Chris cocked the gun and peered over his shoulder at her as she considered the situation. Put the jeep in reverse. "You make a good point."

"See? Not just a pretty face."

"Shut the door, Chris."

The jeep shot backwards, and the last thing the controller saw before its scouts died was a screaming black woman at the wheel, and white man giving them the two finger salute. With both hands.

**ARKLAY, MAY 10, 1998**

The woman paced in front of the cell.

She'd worked there for most of her working life; this has been her home. This has been her sanctuary. Even the trips to Africa, those heady days when she was with the man she loved and the world would last forever, they didn't compare to the quiet down here, the protection of this place. It was sacred.

But now there was an intrusion.

There had been intrusions in the past. Back when Marcus had needed help on his projects and taken those brash, arrogant creatures into his bosom and oh, how they turned out to be _vipers_. Sniping between themselves, gleefully stealing knowledge and taking credit for themselves; she had been glossed over as just another lab assistant. Albert and his ego. William and his paranoia. The patience Marcus had…_well_. That was _then_.

This was now. And this was…bad.

Maram had brought the woman down last night. Kendra refused to think of Evelyn by her name despite having speaking with her only hours before; the moment the incident had come to light she'd become just another lump of flesh at the researcher's disposal. Maram had been evasive in the beginning, but a quick test of the subject's bloods had told Kendra everything she needed to know, and she wasn't sure whether to be delighted or angry. A new test subject was always fun, but the circumstances needed…explaining. A quick faked document from their resident IT support had fobbed off the woman's boss and companions that she was in the local hospital, and calls re-routed to one of the researchers in case anyone had any ideas about ringing for confirmation. For now, hooked up to a number of machines, the woman just…slept. As if it were nothing. Occasionally pulling at the hand wired down to the platform she was on, the camera recording the healing process.

Not that there was much of it; the blood had stopped coming and the flesh was healthy and pink. About now there should be decaying, and convulsions and bloodied flux running down legs, as the body turned on itself, the host tearing itself to pieces.

And so far there had been one movement – a sleepy scratch of a nose. That was it. No screaming, no gnashing of teeth. This was _bad_.

Oh, it was good too, but an unscreened test-subject with a prototype virus? Hell of a lot of paperwork. Half of it would be rendered invalid, and the last thing Kendra needed was for part of her life's work to be dismissed just because the 'environment' was 'impure'.

The file on the subject was painfully thin. The usual; Kendra had flicked through it, found nothing of interest. A bundle of insecurities held under the belt of a strict upbringing and a giving-to-a-fault personality. Doormat, essentially.

What a waste.

"Mouse."

It was the only name that the operator of the _Red Queen_ computer system would answer to. It was stupid, but valuable to keep such people on your side because the knowledge they had at their side was invaluable. You didn't cross them. You manipulated them. Carefully.

There wasn't a voice that told her she'd been heard, but the camera did move at the ceiling.

"I want this conversation kept strictly between us, Mouse."

It was disguised as an earring, but was anything but. The receiver was at the base of the hoop; using the metal to magnify the sound to the clear fishing-line thin cable that led into the bud-speaker in her ear. Quietly, whispering, Mouse responded; her accent thick and her words slurred by whatever chemical she was taking in now. _My God what is wrong with our employees? Such weakness_. "Your channel. Free now."

"Thank you."

It took a moment to dial. The has-been answered, annoyed. "Birkin Lab, who- _wait_. What is it, Kendra?"

"Annette, _darling_." Kendra's heels clicked quickly across the tiles, lips pulled into something that was either a grimace or a smile, you couldn't tell. "I need to speak to William."

"William is busy." It was a shared moment between the two women; mental guns cocked, twenty paces. Umbrella encouraged rivalry, but it wasn't uncommon for it to become outright hatred.

_At least sweet little Alexia had talent._ "Must be hard being the other woman in the relationship."

There was a pause. Kendra could just see Annette Birkin grinding her teeth in her mind's eye. "Speaking from personal experience, Kendra?"

Kendra considered this. She considered the time she'd been bent over a lab bench and rubbed raw when Marcus was in one of his moods. When he'd reached a wall, when there was nothing else, how he'd hold her, how he'd pull her about. The way he'd held her down, here in this lab, over and over again - fingers digging into her neck, holding her, twisting her up inside before that sweet, sweet release. For an old man he'd been incredibly active, but then he'd had a good incentive…and there was nothing wrong with the 'wife' and the 'mistress' knowing each other in an open relationship.

She shivered, the ache making itself known between her thighs, longing in her heart. "Mmm." Came the almost dreamy sigh. _Don't forget yourself! Work first._ "But there are ways to call a man _away_ from work, Annette." Stupid bitch. If Annette wanted to play it safe with her husband then she'd lose him. Genius was like that.

Ye _gods_, she wanted to fuck.

Birkin came on a moment later, thankfully dampening her fire. "Kendra, I'm not due up there for at least six months-"

"Be quiet you pasty little idiot." She snapped back. She leaned against the containment unit; staring at the sleeping form inside. Had it been any other creature – almost any other creature, she wouldn't have dared. But this wasn't the Pet Shop, as they so lovingly called the bioweapon facility in the heart of Level 5, this was her lab. This was safe. "Something unexpected has happened. We have another test subject."

Birkin made a quizzical noise.

"I have a problem however. There's no background profile."

"What do you mean, no background profile?" Came the enraged splutter. "_Everyone_ has a background profile! It's how we damn well work-"

"Everyone _important_." The words hung there, full of promise. She could hear him pacing now, hear his movements as he swiped at things, tried to think. Kendra turned away from the glass, leaning against it, sliding down. "Staff with level one clearance are not considered anything more than…disposables."

"Well…_well_, then it will work the _usual_ way. T has always worked that way. The subject will go downhill and then will…die. And then come back. You know, like always. Let's face it, a little bit of fight in the subject makes the virus more vicious. Do yourself a favour and chuck the bastard into the furnace, get it over with."

He was so _thick_. How could he possibly think it was…? "This _isn't_ T."

"Then what is it?" Pause. Frantic squeal. "Did you get into my research? Christ…MOUSE. MOUSE I KNOW YOU'RE LISTENING, IF YOU'VE BEEN SNOOPING-"

"It's _our_ little secret, William, _not_ the Tyrant virus."

The wind went out of his sails as he caught on. "_No_."

"_Yes_. Which is bothersome in itself. No other human subject has displayed even a partial merger with this apart from Miss Trevor. The bloods we took can be sent down; but the short of it is this: increased red blood cell count, the immune system is currently erratic. It has begun to slow down in the last few hours since the facility took on the day shift…" She reached out, pulled the clipboard off the bench where Maram had left it, flicking through the pages. "Cellular growth is rapid, but controlled, presenting itself as a healing process rather than a mutation which…was not what normally happens in a human test subject. Smears have all come back clean; but I am questioning why the internal flora seems to be ignoring the protein strands, but it might be just that it's taking a while."

"Lymphatic array?"

"Body responded as though it was infection, but _not_ an allergic reaction. Note the difference, William." He had gasped, excited as she'd spoken those magic words. "Fever, swelling of the glands, shivering. It broke in the early hours of the morning so the subject is either exhausted and asleep or the brain was burned out."

She heard the creak of his chair as he sat down through the earpiece. Birkin thinking. Birkin pondering. Birkin…planning."Any idea on the mental state?"

"Delivered slightly delirious."

"That's no good-"

"State of shock. Subject fell down the stairs while transporting the serum and was infected by accident due to a breakage – tried to save one of the vials, ended up slipping further and breaking it."

"Are we sure it's…not on purpose?"

"God no." Kendra tapped the glass but there was no response. "This one has some intelligence, but it's a bureaucrat at heart." There was a clatter behind her, but Kendra ignored it. "A waste, really."

"…Hmm…if anything develops, let me know. This might…I don't know. It sounds promising. At least the subject's not dead. Um. Yet."

"Of course, William. Oh, and William?"

"Yes?"

Kendra ran her nails down the glass. "When the chance comes, you will infect your companion regardless of whether or not the serum works. Those are the orders. What has happened here is…just a prelude. A forerunner to the grand event."

"We'll see. At the end of the day, it's your screw-up, Kendra. Not mine."

He disconnected, leaving her in silence. Almost silence. Mouse broke off, switching off the cameras, leaving Kendra alone in her thoughts, and her secrets. What she wouldn't give to get into the box right now, pick apart the woman lying there, find out why she was still alive. Elevated heart-rate, dilated pupils; brain waves were…curious. Not in a coma. Something else. Sleeping. Why sleeping? Lord Spencer was going to be so angry with her…

She straightened up, similarly angry, similarly bothered. And as she straightened up, realized someone was behind her. His reflection in the glass. She leaned into him, closing her eyes as his hands crept up her body, something else sliding up her skirt. Needle teeth brushed her throat. "James." She whispered softly. "Oh, James."

**ARKLAY, MAY 11, 1998**

There were a number of different things that started the outbreak at Arklay. It didn't help that the facility was crawling with staff – some annoying, some stupid, some fairly okay at working but all asking questions. It didn't help that the researchers were jumpy. That one of the directors had come down; a fat banker by the name of Errol Hesinthewaite, along with his annoyingly snotty-nosed brat of a son who had a cold and was off from his expensive private academy as his mother was busy. The failing air-conditioning system. The bad water supply. The ambitions of a man and a woman and the disregard for life.

The inability of Umbrella to pass any health and safety checks. **Ever**.

Hesinthewaite was in a bad mood. His mood only got worse as the day wore on because he didn't like what he saw and there were better things to do with his time than be looked down upon by pencil-pushers and watery-eyed _nerds_. Umbrella was _full_ of dirty double dealings and betrayal – it was the order of the day and you ate it and you liked it _and_ you asked for seconds, so help you. But you got things _done_. You got it done and you met _deadlines_.

So when this incredibly fat, dull and stupid man who cared more about dollar signs than progress announced that half the projects were shutting down and that he was tired of seeing all the funds disappear into the pockets of 'pocket-protector-geeks and their expensive living toys', Kendra saw red.

Were she someone else, she might have seen sense; or the opportunity for growth – lucrative markets had opened up with the work on the virus chains, when it was capped and coded properly they had some excellent marketable drugs, but people kept pushing for things that made you dead instead of made you thin, or made your headache go away or stuck stuff to other stuff.

Nothing would dissuade him. The orders came from the director's board, as well, a double kick to the stomach. The T-Virus had been shipped out that very morning. Spencer's special already on its way. Their work was done, so why the hell were they still there now that their research was coming up with nothing but unstable monsters and little pissing matches with each other? It wasn't good business sense and they were out of the _fifties_ for crying out loud, let's get with the program, computers are doing interesting things so why shouldn't they-

_**Bastard**_.

And she'd had such a _lovely_ evening before as well.

Kendra had excused herself as soon as she could without seeming impolite. From there, she had stormed through the building the moment the interview was over, the fat cunt _still_ talking with two of the personnel managers as they shared sugary donuts and piping hot mud that served as coffee on the upper floors. _Fraternizing_ with the _hired help_.

They couldn't see genius. They couldn't understand the _importance_ of _patience_, or the importance of careful, precision work. She couldn't understand why anyone would send someone so thoughtless and stupid and…and…_and_!

The doors were flung open. She stormed through, teeth bared at anyone who crossed her path, and her team bolted, sliding out the access doors, muttering about breaks and checking on such-and-such, lazy, good for nothing-

"MARAM." Except _him_. Seated on the floor. Kendra felt a moment of violence staring at him; where she'd been the night before on her hands and knees with-

"Good afternoon, Doctor Bhattacharya."

Had the little bitch been watching? Oh she'd _watched_. She may have been unconscious but she'd _watched_, filthy little _slag_.

Kendra smiled. More like leered. "El-Amin, I would appreciate it if you went upstairs and took yourself a break, you've been hard at work, I don't want to burn you out."

His wide, trusting eyes took her in. "I'm actually doing really well, ma'am. I'm just concerned for Evie."

"I'm sure she'll be fine." A pause. "Why are you on the floor?"

"No reason." He said hurriedly; but too late, she'd seen the movement under his lab-coat. One of his beasties. She felt herself relax.

"Try not to let that out where it can be seen, thank you."

He went red. Got up, hurried out with the little creature in his hands. If only the man could put his mind into more violent things rather then sewing up the leftovers and breathing life into them. Maram was too much of a dreamer.

When his footsteps died away, and she was sure she was alone, Kendra let her shoulders droop, her rage smolder, staring at the heaped form under the observation lamps. Just stared. Watched the chest move up and down as the subject breathed, slow and measured. The machines said nothing abnormal. Everything was…

…Too stupid to continue.

"They're going to destroy us, James." She whispered, lips trembling, eyes prickly and hot.

Something in the darkness nodded. Grinned through pointed teeth.

oOo

Two hours later, somewhere deep inside the building a siren sounded. People milled about doing their work. Hesinthwaite's son just played with his Gameboy, ignoring the noise. It was just a practice alarm, right?

Right.

Yeah?

So when the doors didn't open - a lock down, apparently, people suddenly got nervous.

But you know, everything was alright…right?

Right?

**PRESENT DAY**

Sheva was right.

The clouds were ominous. If they were lucky they'd make it to the meeting point; apparently someone else would be there to give them more information, but in a job like this that tended to get people…killed. Chris continued to watch the world unfold outside the window, content to let Sheva drive. After their run in with the truck they'd seen two more suspicious looking trucks or vans roaring past them to end up…doing something else.

Chris scratched his arm; sweat making a few cuts there sting. Why were the Majini running? That wasn't like them. He needed to call Leon; Leon was probably the only one who might explain what was happening; he'd been around them or at least their European cousins enough. The undead and the Tyrant bio-weapons were one thing; creepy creatures that lived inside you and changed you while you watched were something else entirely. Almost dishonest.

He'd also felt bad when he'd heard the crashes behind them – Maijini and their nightmarish passengers were not particularly good drivers, and accompanied by the fact they were panicky, it made for driving that ended up in ditches, rolling cars and – this one they passed – running on empty and then sitting there, rhythmically beating the steering wheel as the parasite tried all the host's functions to make it work.

Then he'd sort of laughed. In that horrible _I'm-actually-feeling-really-bad-I-want-to-go-home _way.

"We're almost there."

He nodded, thankful for the distraction. Sheva glanced at him, her gaze softening. He felt embarrassed then. "This feels like déjà-vu, except this time we have body armour."

She chuckled. "At least we have some idea what we're up against."

"Do we?"

"We retrieve the box, we find the team, we go back. There are plenty of other people who can clean up this mess…"

"Yeah, but the mess of the world-"

The softness disappeared and Sheva's gaze hardened. "You're starting to sound like your friend. Nobody has the right to save or break the world – it's too much responsibility."

"Wesker was _not_ my friend!"

"Hmph."

Kijuju finally came into being on the horizon, the first shanties whirling by as Sheva changed gears and coaxed the jeep to something slower but still watchful. Surprisingly there were still some people left here – normal people, if normal was possible in this crazy world. There was definitely a lack of crazy eyes and religious babble.

_Note to self, call Leon. _

Beside what was left of a motel possibly used by the first Americans here – hell, Westerners in general – were two BSAA jeeps and a helicopter currently on guard by a rather keen looking young man who saluted them as they went past and onto the porch.

Fans lazily ticked away at the ceiling, swishing about the muggy air and doing…nothing. What tables and chairs were left were rickety but being put to good use – a couple of old men were playing cards while a dog that looked more hyena than common mutt gnawed at a bone by their sandaled feet. The bartender, scarred and scratched looked up as they came in, reaching for something under the counter – a gun perhaps, Chris wasn't sure – but relaxed when he realized what they were.

Josh was in the centre of the room, hunched over a topographical map, marking out spots with a biro. Two more men and three women were around him, lounging on chairs, drinking soda as the beer was long gone. All of them looked tired, but there was a feverish sense about them; a need to get things done.

"Took your time." Josh muttered, glancing up. Sweat beaded his forehead in the heat.

Chris shrugged. "We ran into trouble. I'm sorry. The Majini are getting past the wall – did you know that?"

One of the recruits piped up. "They were driving?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. We were wondering where those vans had gone…"

Chris and Josh shared a look. Fresh meat then, these ones. _Damn_. Chris felt his stomach churn at the thought of what the kids might be about to go through, but pushed it away. He had to concentrate, had to work on the task at hand. "Can you brief us on what's going on?"

Josh straightened up. "I actually don't know for sure."

"Then give us what you know." Sheva cracked open a can and slouched on a chair, drawing one knee up to rest her chin against.

"But it's weird."

"How weird?"

Josh shooed the recruits outside. Chris watched him curiously but the taller man just frowned at him, waved him away. "Don't want them to get too worried too soon. One of the heads of the BSAA contacted us just after we'd been debriefed – there were already vultures going in and picking apart the carcass of TriCell. So teams were sent in to stop it. A lot of gear was lifted, a lot of things we're slowly getting back because nobody's getting too far."

"Human or what?"

"Human for sure." Josh rubbed his face tiredly. "They're just under-prepared. But what got me was that the Majini are acting up. Figured we'd got them planned out as destroying what they could. But they're intent on gettin' into places. Chris…I think they're looking for something."

Sheva shivered. "What could possibly interest them apart from more hosts?"

Josh waved a hand over his map. "We've done several flyovers. They're moving in packs. But every now and then the pack is dispersed. Hell, we were going to tag them…ended up spraying them with a couple of cans of tracer paint, they can't figure out what it is and we can pick up the trail later on. But…something's killing them. And it's not the wildlife. Infection has stopped."

Chris and Sheva sat bolt upright.

"So we have that to look out for. Most of the gear we've sorted out. But then one team disappears into the lab and does not come back. We've had a few calls here and there, we just want to find the bodies. And now…"

"Now what?"

Josh's voice dropped. "There is a rumour going around that Oroboros survived. Something's been seen out there. We took shots-" He moved the map aside to show the blurry images; but the curve of the body and the tentacles were familiar. "-but nothing concrete of yet. Your little postal mission might drop you into enemy territory."

Shaking his head, Chris picked up the photos, looking them over. "Damn, Josh. All I figured was that I'd be shooting up a few monsters, find a box. Nobody said anything about this."

"They wouldn't." Said a quiet voice behind them. Almost quiet; it cracked halfway through, the pressures of puberty.

Turning, for a moment Chris felt his heart stop; because the lanky figure coming into the building was all too familiar. Blond hair. Black skin-suit, shoulder holster, even down to the Samurai Edge- but then the person stepped out of the light and he realized how very wrong he was. Not tall as much as beanpole; hopelessly young. The hair was blond but in annoyingly androgynous curls against pale skin. Clad all in close-fitting black, the stranger was cradling a rifle with ease that came from child soldiers – what this kid possibly _was_. But he looked impossibly cherubic as well. His pale, hazel eyes watched them cautiously as he walked across the floor, every step measured, controlled.

Josh threw him a soda, the kid caught it without even taking their eyes off them. "Chris, Sheva, this little guy is accompanying you into the hotzone."

"Bullshit he is." Sheva muttered. "His voice is still breaking. Does his mother know he's here?"

"_He_ can hear you fine." The kid replied, dryly. "Let's just say I have…talents. And I'm employed by the same people you are. You were supposed to be on lockdown until the operation finished, but my guess is someone approached you with a request, right?"

The BSAA had him on lockdown? Chris swayed. Why would they do that? Why would they do that to Jill? "The BSAA wouldn't lie to me. To us."

The boy downed the soda slowly, pausing halfway through it to wipe the coldness across his forehead. "Everyone says that. Everyone."

Chris stepped forward still shaken by the memory of Wesker. "What's your name, kid?" _Don't be what I think it is. Don't be. _

The boy shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters to _me_." Chris moved quickly; upholstering his gun, pressing it to the kid's forehead. Those calm eyes watched him, the expression not changing at all. Controlled. Unlike him. Chris was starting to _shake_. Josh and Sheva were yelling at him, but all he could feel was _rage_-

"Greg." The kid said softly. "My name is Greg. That's all I have…now. That's all you need."

"Greg?" Chris whispered, unbelieving.

"Just Greg." The youth shrugged. Again, that eerie parody of Wesker. "What else is there?"

"But-"

Greg closed his eyes. "A _mission_. I'm on loan, and I'm expensive. So please put the gun down, okay?"

Chris frowned, but slowly relaxed. Became aware that Sheva was next to him, trying to get the gun out of his fingers.

Greg finished his soda slowly before sitting down, and taking out the cartridge from his rifle with an air of practiced ease. "The rumours of Oroboros are true – I've seen emails between some guy called Irving and a couple of different names across the world – my bosses and yours feel it's legit. And I _think_ that's what's being looked for. It was hoped it would be retrieved, y'know, before it escaped, but I have a feeling someone got there first. You were never supposed to know this, Mr. Redfield, because I believe a Doctor Sarton sent you, yes?"

"Y-yeah."

"Sarton is after something much smaller and is going to be in _so_ much trouble when I make my report. He just wants _Sonnentreppe_. You were to be kept quiet until it was removed so you wouldn't try and play the hero. Guess they figure they can make something of Oroboros, I don't know." Greg leant forward, elbows on his knees. "But see, nobody can find it on base. So where would Irving hide it?"

Sheva moved between them at last, her hands soothing as they touched his arm. He thought of Jill, Jill frightened, Jill alone. He never should have left. She squeezed his fingers and he let his shoulders slouch.

"It's been lifted already, hasn't it." Josh whispered. "Might explain why the Majini are acting up…"

"I reckon it has, yeah. Those parasite guys, no idea.." Greg sat back up, stretching in the sunlight like a cat. Fluffing his hair he pouted, taking the cynicism off his face. "Whole thing has me freaking out actually, considering it could be a few streets over."

Josh swore. Loudly enough to make the men playing poker turn around. "Get the team together. Grid search the warehouses – don't let anyone get away! _Now_."

**-to be continued**

_I need brain bleach now, actually. Sorry for the rush job, desperately wanted to post!_


	5. Falling on the Inside

_Ultimolu – Cheers, mate. I find that my work doesn't get reviewed very often, which I'm sort of used to, so you came like a bolt from the blue in my inbox! Thank you so much for your kind words – I'm hoping to keep working a bit of mystery into this, but not complete mystery otherwise, I don't know, I'm afraid I'd lose people :)_

_Skiptrix – You made this jaded writer blush. I hope I can keep up the standard for you! Give me a shout if I'm verging into badfic territory. _

_Thanks to the people who have subscribed already; your faith in me is touching. _

_I'm torn between advancing the story quickly because of all the content I sort of need to put into the past history, or dwelling on Arklay a little bit more. Admittedly I'm drawing a lot on Stephen King's The Mist for this, and… arrrghhh I wish I was not!_

**PANDORA'S SONG**

**CHAPTER FIVE**: Falling on the inside

**PRESENT DAY**

This was far removed from a dingy bar in an equally dingy hell-hole that wasn't really making the effort. The space was rented, it was nothing more than a kitchen and an office; all the company wanted to afford at that point. They were more interested in warehouse space; _guarded_ warehouse space and access to water when the time came. Their reps would have to deal with couches for beds and an unfunded mini-bar.

It was clean, at least. Safe for the moment.

As far as politics and product retrieval went, pharmaceutical companies who were into the more…shady…dealings had an unspoken understanding. If your rival made a mistake, you were allowed to take a peek, steal their stuff, write things on their walls and then disappear. Of course it could be legally challenged, but any time in court would bring out the victim's black market dealings in a world that was becoming increasingly more unstable. For every legitimate drug or science advancement there were three or more backroom dealings and illegal work.

This was the way the world worked; ever since man realized he could sell weapons for money and then reap the rewards when he could make better weapons and sell them to the other side. Cures were expensive, and countries would pay a lot for them if Johnny Terrorist got a hold of something and disagreed with some other poor sod half a country away. The US was trying to keep a lid on this, but the religious groups were making grabby hands at anything even remotely resembling a plague and several European countries had their border patrols swoop on some incredibly suspicious and dangerous items.

Nobody was friends with anybody anymore.

The air conditioning rumbled away, the only thing not new in the hastily refurbished building. The money from overseas governments was being put to good use, but the mentality of keeping anything that still worked remained in the citizens of Nairobi. Waste not, want not.

Two woven shopping bags sat on the counter; meager bread and milk, coffee. Jill sat on a tall stool, leaning onto the laminated bench top, happily munching away on a bread and butter sandwich. It was not, sadly, a Jill special. She wasn't up to making any specials at the moment. She hadn't been for a while.

Beside her, also sat on a stool was Maram, scribbling away in his notebook and occasionally taking bites out of his salad. He wanted to get it down before Sarton turned up and demanded a bite or three.

Jill kicked her heels back and forth, occasionally hitting the cupboard door. Maram had gently tied her hair up; cleaned her face a little. They made a strange pair; the woman made of porcelain, the man made of bronze.

"How you feeling, Jill?" He asked finally.

She chewed, swallowed. Smiled at him, nodding her head. "Good."

Maram closed the notepad, leaning his chin on his hand as he regarded her thoughtfully. "You sure?"

"Doesn't hurt so much."

"You're making people upset you know."

She frowned at him. Without orders, slower doses, her voice was small, her movements slack. She put Maram more in mind of a child than a full grown woman. "Not my fault."

"True. But still." Maram finished his meal, cleaned up and dragged some items out of what looked like an eski that was sitting beside one of the low couches in the living area. The room was clean despite the absent-mindedness of both scientists, although Maram was slightly more together than Sarton. Maram set the equipment up with an ease that came from familiarity, and he watched Jill's eyes brighten when he went to the mini-bar and pulled out another strip of P30. "Not for you, Jill."

"Why not?" Her voice rose. "I need it!"

"You have at least another two hours to go on the dose you've had."

"-But-"

There was a clatter outside, and Sarton stalked in when he'd finally figured out where the key went. Scowling fiercely he ignored the two at the bench, and went straight to the bag, haphazardly making his own lunch. "Sent the security team back to the docks. I hate waiting. Has Mcbitch-tits rung yet?"

"She could have this place bugged, you know." Maram replied sagely. Jill giggled, her earlier anger forgotten.

"She knows how I feel about her, and I know how she feels about me." The thin man spat. "God, couldn't you have let the team take back the ghost here as well?"

"Leave her alone, Henry. When a case is this bad it's usually self-inflicted." Sad but true. How would anyone be able to explain that to her former partner? It had been hard enough at the time to stop her slide into madness – the teams had been grasping at straws the entire time, and maybe? Occasionally? The old Jill would pop up, and that would be interesting, but then the psychosis began. And it wasn't to do with the cryogenics. If it was, then maybe he wouldn't feel so guilty. "Ms Valentine was a member of S.T.A.R.s, and worked with the BSAA. The exposure and gradual osmosis of the viral strains tend to start…degrading the thought processes…there's that and her exposure to the T-Virus. Muted, it's done what it intended to do, made her…different. But the brain cells are another matter entirely. It's either post-traumatic-stress-syndrome or bliss. Almost every person I have worked since…since all of this began…has picked P30 over facing up to what happened, bar…the old team." His skin flushed slightly. The P30 sat on the counter, winking at him, and licking his lips, Maram found it hard to look away. Self-control won out however and he was able to meet Sarton's disapproving glare.

"Look where that got them." Sarton pulled Jill of the stool by holding her by the chin, pulling her to her feet. Looking down at her he was supposed to be in a position of power, but Jill's faint smile was…disconcerting. "Useable?"

"Only for antibodies, but we've had them for ages." Maram brushed away the crumbs off the bench from Sarton's meal, lit the Bunsen burner and opened a window just to let the fumes out so that the fire alarm wouldn't go off. Setting up the stand over it, he went back to the fridge, pulling out more chemicals along the way. "Think of this more as a personal favour apart from _you_ trying your hardest to go against Kendra's orders."

"I have my own stakes in this, don't you dare point the finger at me! You were working for Tri-Cell first. Hey, hey, hey." Sarton said suddenly, as Jill made a grab for the P30 vial. "Not for you!"

"Jill." Maram admonished.

She poked her tongue out at the both of them, fingers moving in jittery arcs against the bench top.

"She gives me the creeps." Sarton grunted.

The Egyptian shrugged, laying out the vials one by one and beginning to mix them. "You made a promise. And if you want this to work out, we need to help her."

"That had better not be hazardous."

"Only if you eat it, Henry." Maram blended them slowly before adding a few drops of P30 to it. "And even then I doubt it will do anything except give _you_ gas. They're just mineral supplements."

"Watering it down?" Jill whined.

Sarton peered at her, invading her personal space with watery eyes and crumbed lips. "Does she ever shut up? Shut up."

At first he thought it had just been a slip of the tongue, but the years working with the botanist had shown Maram that he felt exactly the same as most of Umbrella's top brass – subjects were subjects; nothing more than lumps of meat. Maram pried them apart as firmly, but gently as he could. "Jill, did you want to lie down for a bit? This new concoction should be ready for you soon; I almost have the dosage right. It won't have quite the same hit but it won't make you sick. How does that sound?"

Her eyes narrowed. Jill got off the stool unsteadily, hands up and reaching for him. Sarton swore, backed off, but Maram reciprocated the gesture and the two hugged. Jill remained that way for a long time, head resting against his shoulder as he smoothed her hair, stroked her fears away.

"For God's sake you _stupid_ prick-"

(Should have killed him when we had the chance. Danger, danger-)

People like Sarton would never understand. But then the inner core of Umbrella never had. Regardless of the company being gone, its cancer had spread everywhere turning legitimate companies into virus-breeding hothouses. _And they loved it_. Maram trembled without meaning to; uncontrolled for that awful moment when he thought about it – all of it. The lies. The deceit. He had never meant to start out like this. He'd come to Umbrella to help find out how to restore burns victims. Help donor organs match their transplant patients. He hadn't meant to show a gift in creating things. Creating monsters.

Monsters like the one in his arms. Chris had believed that Wesker had turned Jill. Oh he'd asked, but he hadn't lain a hand on this poor, precious woman. It had been Maram. Maram all the way. And she'd let him. She'd let him because he could take the pain away, take the memories away. And now he would have to bring them back.

(Cruel)

Her lips brushed his cheek; a chaste, understanding kiss he did not deserve. Jill peeled away from him, slinking into the living room and then sitting by the window. She needed feeding, Maram thought. He would have to try and coax her to eat more; he'd always been able to do so in the past, and would probably succeed where her partner had not. He didn't know Chris. He would probably never meet the famous Christopher Redfield that his former boss had spoken about so much and so highly of; perhaps for good reason.

This was possibly his last mission. If he was gone from the labs, it meant that Kendra – and Kendra's bosses – had felt he'd outlived his usefulness. His time was coming, but oddly enough he felt at peace. Well, almost at peace. There were loose ends he had to tie up.

_I won't let you meet the same fate, Jill. You can still be saved. I will save you. I have to._ Maram swallowed, feeling nauseous. Damn him for having a conscience. _Your friends, too._

(You wanted it)

"Where's our resident sharp-shooter?" Sarton asked, finally, rummaging in the fridge and making everything clink. His words broke the spell of melancholy.

Maram took the dish off the heater, spooning out the film on the surface, trying not to listen to the voice inside his head.

(But you listen because you like it. You _listen_.)

The concoction was cooling quickly and he pulled a fresh syringe out of one of the overhead cupboards, momentarily stopped by the plastic wrapping around the casing. "I sent Greg ahead." He said softly, not trusting himself to sound steady. Oh, _Greg_. Another one of his mistakes.

"Why?"

"Because Redfield is useful. Because I don't want him dead because _you_ wanted your stupid flower. And because Greg will know better than anyone if he gets close to what Kendra is looking for." Maram looked up at Sarton sharply, eyes narrowed. "The man's a bloody innocent. The only thing he's guilty of is cleaning up the mess – _our_ mess, I might add. I will take responsibility for my monsters, you start taking responsibility for yours."

"Plant 42 was _brilliant_. Everything that's followed has been a success except for that stupid rose but at least we sold it for a fucking profit." Came the sullen growl, accompanied by a belch. "Fuck me, this doesn't agree at all. I want to go home."

"We can go home once we've secured a sample, but we need to play nice with the BSAA. The directors may be in the pocket of the Agency but the agents themselves are not." Maram tapped out the air bubbles before winding a plastic strap around his arm and tapping up the vein at the crook of his elbow. Salivating almost, in anticipation. _Just a little longer_. The needle slipped into the vein and Maram shivered, barely able to keep the delight out of his voice as coils of hot wire slunk through his veins, pushing the voices away. "We need them to clear us a pathway. Remember that."

oOo

The grid searches were not going to plan.

The world was starting to distort, starting to change. He couldn't stop it even if he tried, Chris leaned against a wall and when that didn't work, he dropped to a crouch to coax the blood back into his brain and stop him from passing out. Everything was hammering and he wasn't sure why…actually, that was a lie. He knew why. He knew why and he dreaded it; exhaustion and terrors. Up ahead Sheva jogged down the next alleyway, hand at her headset, speaking in rapid Swahili to the newbies, getting updates where she could, or leads if they were lucky - he didn't know.

His vision started to speckle. _Jill_, he thought. _Jill can you hear me? Jill, I need you. _

Chris jerked when a hand was laid against his shoulder. Surprised at the strength in that grip he looked up and into the golden eyes of Greg, who stood there patiently as he tried to stand. Once Chris made it, the youth rummaged in the pockets of his belt to pull out a granola bar, which he gave without a word to the stunned BSAA agent.

Greg then resumed his own jog in Sheva's wake, guns at the ready. Kid was bristling with weapons. Chris pinched the bridge of his nose, swallowing hard and willing his brain to work. Teenagers with guns. Since when had the BSAA relied on kids to get the work done?

Then he ate the granola bar. It was good. Good enough to make him feel a little better, if just for the moment.

In the dappled shadows of an African afternoon, he chased after the ghosts of monstrous past.

**ARKLAY, MAY 12, 1998**

It was starting to get difficult to keep the calm.

Work had stopped and the world was quite still. Vincent sat at his desk, watching the rest of the milling crowd as they gathered in the library, sitting on the boxes, the piles of files. He could still hear the thump of the ventilation fans but his ears had popped several times since then; they were increasing the air pressure inside the facilities.

He hadn't bothered to count heads. The managers from the different departments had come up to see him one by one. They had a twenty strong team from human resources. Training staff most likely. Accounts, which made up for over a hundred. His own staff numbered around twenty, the new reprographics unit sat at ten. About thirty low-grade researchers. The scientists were not there. He suspected they would not be.

They would be in the labs.

Just as it had been predicted when he'd received his report. Like everything else. _I thought I had more time. Testing wasn't supposed to begin for at least another month or so. I've done everything I could to keep the experiments at bay up here when they slipped through the restraints, what the hell are those idiots playing at? This has to be Birkin. Only Birkin would be this cold blooded. _

He had to stay calm. In control. That was his job, and damn it, he would do it.

The director was pitching a fit. Eric had thankfully taken the kid away somewhere else, while people milled about and asked questions, tired of making demands to whoever was listening. The IT staff would be up soon; Red Queen required a ten-man team to keep her up and running properly, so someone would be up to ask questions. Otherwise all would be up here and Mouse would stay in her hole, all alone. Mouse could, when pushed, operate everything solo; she had built most of the systems after all.

Vincent closed his eyes, thinking.

They had increased the air pressure because something was in the building. They were, in effect, in quarantine. Which meant something in the air was going to hurt them if it wasn't hurting already…they'd been trapped for twenty eight hours now. He had already made the predictions; the lack of food, fresh water. This was going to get ugly quickly.

Susan sidled up to him in his little make-shift corner 'office' of dividers and cheap plywood desks, her face pale. "We've lost communication to the outside. Vince…uh…"

"I'm sorry." He said softly.

She shook her head to silence him; for the moment she didn't want to believe what was happening. Well, that was fine with him. Stick with the mundane. "Called Derry."

"You wasted time on _that_ son of a bitch?"

For a moment she stared at him, taken aback by his language. "Y-yeah. I _did_. Turns out he's been trying to call _us_. Evie didn't go home. She's not even at the hospital. He's mad as all hell and told me to find her and tell her to come home." She paused, making a face. "It was almost a 'git in the kitchen and make me dinner' moment."

"If she had any sense she'd be halfway across the country from that douchebag. The _good doctor_ had told me she was in Raccoon County hospital; but if the fiancé's called and nobody answered…Damn." He scratched his chin, casting his eyes to t he ceiling to think. "Looks like one of us is not escaping. Okay, did you check the office?"

It was common knowledge that since the fire, several staff had been doing the overnight setups. It had been unusual to do several in a row because the place could be fairly creepy once it got quiet and the dedicated science staff kept to themselves, but Evelyn had put her hand up more often than not. The empty offices on level two – the ones that opened up onto the balcony that ringed the main lab-now-library – were utilized as personal space, holding a sleeping bag or two; and the basic of personal effects.

This of course, wasn't allowed, but as long as the work was getting done, people tended to turn a blind eye. Of course the researchers stayed on, but the admin crew couldn't be trusted to tie their own shoe-laces let alone handle top secret information.

Susan's face grew paler despite the make-up. "Her stuff is there, she didn't leave."

He closed his eyes. _Oh god, no. _

"Is this lockdown because of what happened with Evie and Alex?" Susan whispered.

Vincent shook his head.

Susan bit her lip now, on tiptoe to whisper in the tall man's ear as he leaned into her, smelling distress. "Is this what you asked Doctor El-Amin about?" A tiny mote of dread. "What is T? I read stuff in the files, man. We had to so we could file it. What the fuck is happening?"

Laying his calloused hands on her shoulders, he looked down at her with a mixture of horror and sympathy. "Susan. If this is the T-Virus then we have no hope and there is no going back. Now sit tight. I need you…and anyone else you can find with a lick of sense…to meet me on the second level and the meeting room there. People are starting to get hungry. People are tired and afraid. But we need to focus."

In her eyes was complete trust. "Okay."

_Damn_. This was going to be Kuwait all over again.

oOo

The pressure seals were holding. He could tell because of his growing headache and it would only get worse as time wore on. Maram padded down the corridor, clipboard under his arm as he scanned the area, watched the other teams quietly and professionally vacating their labs to move to different, safer areas. Without thinking he ducked into Kendra's, quickly looking over the tables. She was on the phone to someone, talking-

"-Don't tell me what I can and cannot do, you pay me but you _weren't_ down here. You wanted _results_; we do it my way."

Babble, angry babble. Maram stiffened, hearing something else over the murmur of voices in the brightly lit outside hall. Kendra's lab was always in twilight, the lights low, the air smelling of something…something he couldn't place. Put him in mind of mould and a distant strange perfume, far removed from the clinical scents he was used to.

"I don't care! You stick me here with anti-social idiots who haven't the slightest idea of the work we are doing. I want this new world as much as you do, I've dedicated my life to it, but don't you dare criticize my methods!"

Maram tried to feel sorry for the person on the other end of the line. It was hard; he mostly felt sorry for himself at that point, but as Kendra was the senior researcher there at that point…Well. She was the only one he could ask about why his pass-card had stopped working. He slunk closer, hands raised to placate her as she continued to fume at the console, and on the screen-

The old man was very focused on her. Maram went still. Watchful.

Behind him, something slithered.

"You are trapped in your ivory tower, Oz. Leave it be. If good doesn't come out of this, then there will be plenty of other opportunities. We've had our operatives in here for years. Just think of it as…jump starting the project."

"Excuse me."

The voice was very soft, and the smell of mould very strong. Maram turned around, heart in his throat to see a dark-haired man in a slightly grubby lab coat. His pale eyes were watchful; haunting. Kendra on the other hand was a ball of fury. "I will contact you later over the secure line. Hells bells, Doctor El-Amin! What are you doing here?"

_How much did you hear?_ Those were the unspoken words. Eyeing the newcomer – the newcomer which he knew had _not_ been in the room and certainly hadn't come in through the door – Maram found his resolve. "M-My passcard doesn't work. I needed to go topside."

"Nobody's going topside until the spill is cleared up." Kendra said, smoothly. She crossed the floor to lightly link arms with the dark haired man. "We're in a code red."

Maram felt his limbs turn to jelly but still somehow managed to fit some indignation in his voice. "Excuse me? Code _blue_ was what I was told-"

"Code red." The newcomer said. Maram squinted; the pass card was turned around at his pocket, hiding his name, but it looked official. "In other words, nobody is going in, nobody's going out." He smiled, and his teeth seemed too white, too…sharp. "Is this the famous Doctor El-Amin I've heard so much about?"

The sentence felt heavy. Kendra watched him for a moment, _really_ watched him, her eyes raking over him and taking him all in. "…Yes. Quite a genius with the splicing, makes it look…almost natural."

He gave her arm a squeeze. "Oh! Someone _useful_ then."

"And overly curious, but when curiosity killed the cat, satisfaction brought it back. Go back to your lab, and keep a biohazard suit at the ready, _Doctor_ El-Amin. This may blow over quickly, it may not. All labs are equipped and safe, and so far Red Queen's not found traces on our level. The bulkheads are sealed. It's not as if this hasn't happened before, we just go into silence for a bit and re-emerge when all is safe."

He knew a dismissal when he heard one. Taking one step back, and then another, Maram made his way to the door, skin crawling and barely able to contain the shivers. "What of the other staff?"

"…We will keep an eye on them." A pause, then a sly grin. "As for your companion, she is still sleeping and is probably the safest of us all in the box. " Kendra's voice had an almost dreamy sound to it. She was looking into the dark haired man's eyes, her hands gently against his chest. The man's eerie demeanor had changed to something softer, gentler. Maram's eyes caught the name-tag, just for a moment.

_Marcus_.

Marcus? Oh what the hell. It didn't matter. Huffing to himself, he left.

oOo

Albert Wesker ached.

Dragging himself upstairs to the apartment, once more Wesker tried to understand the logic behind where he was staying and why – someone had tagged the second floor again with a ludicrously anatomically incorrect cock and balls (The kid a floor up if he guessed right) and the cat lady had been out – he could smell urine everywhere. He fumbled at the lock, the key stiff. How could people do this? Arrrgghhh his pot plant, too. He'd had to get special permission and everything in order to have it sit in the alcove that hid his door – and some bastard had coated it with red paint and stripped it of half its leaves.

_Savages_!

The door gave in after a struggle, and Wesker found himself slipping into his old routine so very easily; kettle, on, quick shower and a redress into something much looser and much more comfortable and then – as the sun was starting to crawl over the horizon – an egg on toast.

He only covered the night shift when he had to but of late it was happening more and more. Irons hadn't given him much of a choice on that matter with his team spread frightfully thin, and it was a far cry from his youth in the labs when there was a rush on. Then it had been easy to burn the midnight oil…now it was just…wearing him out.

If he was lucky, Alpha team would behave today when they came onto the day shift. Valentine could at least be trusted. Redfield behaved most of the time provided he wasn't being led astray (military training? Hah! Not bloody likely), and Frost was generally able to get things done. Provided Irons didn't decide to ring him and pester for something petty and mundane, Wesker thought, sleepily making himself some herbal tea, he might actually get some shut-eye once the school rush was done and the herds of children from the complex stopped thundering around the halls.

There was a feeble little 'yay' in some dark corner of his twisted soul.

His bed was rumpled, but welcomed him like an old lover, comfortable and musky and cool. Burrowing into his pillow he could at last close his eyes, not worry about the dampness of his hair and what it would look like when he woke up hours later. Everything was fine. Yeah. The breeze from outside soothed him as Wesker slowly-

_Beep_.

-Opened an eye.

_Beep_.

Focused.

_Beep_.

He scowled and rolled over, opening the drawer in the bedside table, almost knocking the lamp off in the process. The PDA winked at him amongst other items he tended to shove in there when he wasn't thinking, and he called up the screen to see a missed call. The number wasn't listed – he never listed anyone on this thing for fear of someone finding it, it was just common sense to remain security conscious in his posistion – but he recognized the area code – Arklay – and the extension. Marcus' lab, or as it was now, the library. It had been an unpleasant jolt to see it come up, but why had someone from Arklay tried to call him?

Wesker debated trying to sleep again, but…to hell with it. Getting up and padding to the living room, he grabbed the phone and tried to ring back.

Tried being the word. The operative calmly informed him that the number no longer existed. He tried it again, just in case he was misreading it.

He wasn't.

_Odd_. He thought, then filed the thought away to worry about later. If it was important, someone would relay it to him. Eventually.

oOo

"Approximately forty hours ago we went into lockdown."

They watched him with interest, watched him with trust. Vincent hated himself for it, knowing that every word was recorded, knowing they were watching. Waiting for him to mess everything up.

"Approximately…"

He spoke, and they listened.

An unknown virus was in the air. They were trapped here. The researchers would be giving them food soon enough, their labs had sealed the moment _Red Queen_ had picked up the infection. But if anything strange happened, or anyone felt ill, they had to report to level three. Some of them had already been to see Smith and Harrison and so far had checked out clean. But, you know, do it again if anything presented itself.

No, some people were missing. A head count had been attempted, but people were possibly on the upper levels trying to get out.

No, this was _not_ the activists again.

No, everything was going to be okay, but _first_ we need to make ourselves comfortable.

No-

Screaming, down below. Nobody moved except Susan, getting up and going to the window where the others milled below; just in time to see something streak in from the corridors outside, coloured crimson. When _she_ screamed, _then_ they took notice.

It was one of the IT staff from level five. Cut up. Bloody. Eyes wide. "Something's in the halls!" He screamed at them, wide circles, a drone bee waggle-dancing danger in the hive. "Something's in the halls! It got Huong! Came out of the dark! Something big!"

And then he collapsed. At that point, any thoughts of him having been in hysterics were rapidly squashed when people moved close to his still body. Down his back were long ragged marks; and buried up against his hip-bone as his blood pooled on the carpet was a talon the length of Vincent's ring finger. As the shock kicked in and the man convulsed, alone amidst the crowd of astonished, terrified staff, Vincent realized that this was only the beginning.

Somewhere, deep in the bowels of the building, something howled.

**PRESENT DAY**

It was not a good day for Djembe Rodgers.

It had seemed like a great idea at the time to go and follow up a lead about a laboratory with a lot of black market goods that had been deserted fairly quickly and stuff had been left behind. He'd rounded up the guys, gone in to take a look. The old men said there was bad luck down there, really bad things, but when you have a shot gun and have faced off with hungry lions before, Djembe had felt it was really just like shooting really big insects.

The problem was, once they had loaded up the trucks with the boxes and the technology and the occasional thing-under-glass, the insect people had decided to follow them home.

They'd stopped off in Kijuju – a shadow of what it had once been, as far as he was concerned – and now the bastards were sniffing around the trucks while he'd stopped to grab something to eat! This was supposed to be an easy job, and some bugger was trying to break in!

Djembe rolled his eyes, frowning behind his beard.

He walked towards them, long strides, dark eyes glaring and they turned as one, watched him back, their hazy eyes and disjointed limbs twitching. As one they wheeled, turned away, ran.

"That's right." He muttered, his native tongue sweet against the mangled cries of the Majini who had decided that the puny human with the gun wasn't much to bother with, but the thing inside the truck was another matter entirely.

The Controller watched them impatiently behind those many pairs of eyes. Coaxing them to retrace their steps, take another look. Its mind was clipped, it had no words, and no voice, just instinct that badgered it to look, but also run. As it was with the domesticated _Plagas_, created by TriCell. But muted as they were, they still understood the concept of danger, and the general idea of strategy. It was a hive-mind thing, despite being incredibly patchy and…worrisome. Plagas didn't understand worry, or why it was presenting itself now. It was a new thing. New things were…difficult.

But what was in front of them – apart from Djembe, who was now climbing into the back of the flatbed and canvas setup – was a pressing matter, and the controller was having difficulty coaxing the lesser castes into taking a look and helping it understand what was both drawing it – and sending it away.

The crates held in the back of the truck were hi-tech stuff, refrigeration boxes that were heavy and possibly held living things. Djembe had no idea what they were exactly or what they were used for, but each one was smooth metal, marked out with stuff in English and Italian. English he knew a bit of; but then the Biohazard sign was universal. Some idiot would buy it for sure. They always did, and TriCell had been losing a lot on the fringes thanks to Irving's inability to keep his mouth shut, and everyone else's light fingers.

Most of them were fine, but one had a little flashing light near the bottom.

Djembe peered closer. A red flashing light. The first thing he thought of was a heartbeat; because that's how it flashed, but then he got thinking – red light? His truck showed a red light when it was running out of fuel. Ah. Oh. He grimaced, and took a step back.

The box didn't make much of a noise at first, until the light was blocked out from the outside. Djembe turned to see the red-eyed bug men crawl in, and for the first time since this job started he felt a little bit afraid. Then the thumbing started. The crate twitched; the metal clinking against the floor, against the neighbouring crates. "Shit." Djembe said, quietly.

The refrigeration unit finally gave up the ghost; the section sliding out and disconnecting from the main chamber. As it did so; fluid dripped to the floor, viscous like oil maybe, but completely clear. Djembe stepped back, trying to stay clear as the motions became more and more wild as the thing inside tried to get out. Moving back until he could feel the cab at his shoulder blades, and he felt in his pocket for some more shells. They had to be _somewhere_.

The main chamber opened with a hiss, the top opening up with a pneumatic hiss, the air misting and spilling out, the cold banished in the African heat. It slid back halfway then stopped, the red light going out. For a moment, Djembe couldn't see what was going to happen next; because the Majini had decided to crawl right the way inside.

Shoot the thing in the box, or shoot the people with bugs inside them? Decisions, decisions. He sighed, annoyed. He'd been hoping to get this job over and done with, this was just ridicu-

One of them peered in. A moment later it was dragged inside and the noise – it was _horrifying_! Screaming, ranting, _noise_.

His sphincter tightened. _Oh dear_.

Something red and raw crawled out of the box, trying to rest it's weight on the half-opened lid, pulling it's torso out. He could only see one 'arm', a twisted, malformed thing with claws. All kinds of things pierced it's broken and scarred skin; sensors and needles, still dripping fluid and nourishment, he expected. So far it's attention was on the Majini. This was a good thing.

It hissed. It had to have a head somewhere, from the back, he couldn't tell.

One of the Majini howled in response. Then they were all howling. Then there was a flurry of flesh, and blood and stuff that…that sprayed everywhere, and that awful, _awful_ hissing, like a giant snake, then running and pounding and short, sharp screams.

Djembe opened his eyes and found himself alone.

The rest of his day was spent pushing crates out of his truck, locking everything up and getting the hell out of Kijuju. Screw his contact. Screw his buyers.

Broken and twisted, the TriCell escapee crawled into the dust and shade offered by a broken down shed. Licked at the stump of an arm; scratching at the missing pieces of itself, blinking at the sun then shuffling into the darkness where the light couldn't reach its wasted flesh.

"…"

No sound came out.

"…"

Futile, it seemed.

Long talons brushed what remained of its throat, at the ugly black bar that could just be seen beneath the fine layer of sticky tendons and strands of skin. The being coughed. Scratched again.

It would have to wait until nightfall. It was too bright, too hot to do anything except wait.

Eyes like fire watched the door as it struggled to find somewhere to lay down that wouldn't hurt so much. Wheezing, hissing, it listened. Listened and waited for dusk.

/To be continued.


	6. Synathesia Coloured Red

_This chapter has had too many re-writes._

_[[edit: BECAUSE I FORGOT. Skiptrix, stop spoiling me with praise! Thank you 3]]  
><em>

**PANDORA'S SONG**

**CHAPTER FIVE**: Synathesia Coloured Red

**PRESENT DAY**

"Man down, man down!"

Those were the words he didn't want to hear. Chris needed to stop; he needed to sit for a moment, empty his head of these awful thoughts and visions. PTSD. Shit. Shit he should have _known_. It was only a matter of time and now, now there were awful things inside his head, and his body was starting to waver, almost become unfocused. Twice he found himself forgetting to keep his gun at his side, content to jog along, fight the impulse to outrun whatever shadow-

(Wesker)

-that was following him.

Sheva waved to him, some way up ahead. The alley ways here were twisty, unforgiving with junk strewn everywhere in this part of the township – true actual shanties, and burnt out cars left by those who couldn't adjust to Kijuju's harshness. The ground gave way beneath Chris' feet, making him stumble-

"Chris!"

"I'm okay!" He called back, stooping to a crouch to see the poor bloodied kid in her arms. Barely out of the military, his uniform still somewhat clean. No patches; not sign of combat until now, his arm hacked off at the elbow. Sheva's arms were slick with blood as she tried to tie a tourniquet over the wound, eyes wide and completely on the task at hand, but she was slippery, the kid was slippery, and Chris dove in, firmly pushing her aside and ignoring her sharp outburst in her native tongue. "It's okay. It's okay."

_Focus on the task at hand, Christopher._ Hands clad in black, gently against his shoulders, steadying him. _Focus, and stay calm._ _You are in control of the situation…the situation is not in control of you._

"Shut up, Wesker." Chris growled under his breath.

Sheva didn't notice his outburst, chewing her lip as the man between them moaned and writhed in pain, his blood turning the ground beneath him to mud. "Did you see what happened?"

"No, he was between _us_, but between these build-_shit look out_!"

The chainsaw had stopped working completely but would still – and had, considering the fresh red all over it – make a mess of a person. Chris stared into the face of the Majini as it bore down on them, face twisting into a feral snarl then unfolding like a flower as the monster inside pulled itself out of it's host-

-to have its head explode into droplets of hot pus and meaty tissue, the chainsaw clattering to the ground.

Quick as a snake, Greg leapt over them, kicking away the jerking machine and clambering up the other side, his gun still out and at the ready. "Hurry! You're losing him!"

Chris gulped, and did as he was told, finishing up the binding and lifting the other man – no more than a kid, really – up. Sheva was still agape as Greg calmly shot down every intruder, never once losing his cool.

"Sheva!"

"C-Coming, what is _with_ that guy-"

"Shit, can't it _wait_?"

Bursts of radio static, screaming. Greg padded like an alley cat over the rooftops, shooting every tentacle and skitterery thing in his path. "I will cover the recruits – get Private Kualo to safety-"

And then he was gone, swift as a shadow into the growing darkness.

oOo

There was no language that surged through the ravaged network of nerves that remained inside the cracked and misshapen skull. The parasite that was barely contained in its cage of flesh wasn't coherent in the slightest. That was part of its problem.

The Controller was, however, upset. Roughly translated; the mental processes of survival were simple: Nobody was listening to it. It was higher on the food chain, and the peons were running about and doing all kinds of stupid things. It was doing the best it could, converting a few helpless scientists and general ground staff that had left the facility when they caught word the BSAA was coming and decided to leg it.

They had kicked and screamed as they were infected, and then they became peaceful, part of the whole. Up until the monster was set loose.

Through its mind the Controller watched the world, fractured like broken glass. Slowly, the lesser minds were starting to return to its control, its children, its followers, its hive. It had to bring them under control. There was still time. It needed numbers. The enemy could be dealt with. But there was something else out there, in the dark, that it had no name for, and no understanding. Its reach was long; it's appetite great. Host and hive alike fell victim to its hunger.

The Controller flexed its mental muscles. Under its command, the remaining Majini surged forward to fight back the hosts-to-be. It curled its brittle fingers in disgust. It had been chased out of the complex by the creator. Now it was being chased by one of the subjects. That wasn't right. In the depths of its mind, it called for reinforcements. The big ones.

The expression on that ruined face was painfully obvious. _Game on, bitches. _

oOo

The bloodlust raged in his veins, and he was barely able to keep it covered, keep it quiet. It was hard enough to play the good boy in front of the enemy, harder still to bite his tongue and keep silent. The white noise from the radio kept him company as he ducked and dodged, smelling them out with uncanny accuracy in the maze of rusted metal and wood. He needed it, welcomed it, remembered the day when the silence hadn't been there but -

(six billion cries of agony)

-something else, something that ate at the mind if you listened to it for too long.

Greg dropped down to a crouch by one of the shanties, listening, trying to feel the world through his dusty skin. Check his ammunition. Check his watch. He should have topped up before he left camp; across his nerves he could feel the saw-toothed song starting to grate on his nerves, wear him down. His mouth watered for a moment and he closed his eyes tightly, focusing on anything except the bloodlust, the hunger-

_You're here, aren't you._ He sent quietly into the growing dark, the thunderclouds that were eating up the sky. _They sent Redfield to flush you out. I don't believe you're dead._ _I can still hear you._

Up and out of his hiding place, Greg shot down the next approaching wave of Majini, rolling aside when one of them extended a long, bone and flesh arm that would have torn him in two. He dispatched them as best he could, but there were always more.

_Half conversions?_ He'd not fought much of these monsters – but something had changed in them. The uniforms were civilian or white-lab coats, a recruitment drive gone horribly wrong. Sometimes working together, sometimes not, they were ignoring their Controller and rioting, attacking even their own comrades in a frenzy to either escape, or destroy. Sometimes at the same time. Inexperienced creatures, almost, unable to follow commands but cooperating with each other as best they could. _Maybe_-

The wall exploded.

Caught in a flurry of wood and metal, Greg was thrown aside and across the street, limbs flailing like a ragdoll. He _crunched_ as he fell; boy-bones brittle like bird wings, arcs of scarlet from his mouth painting monochrome rainbows in the dirt.

Petrol – squirreled away by some forward thinking Kijuju citizen – didn't do well in the heat and without proper supervision. The chemicals stored beside it hadn't helped. Nor had the fact that the Majini had absolutely no grasp on health and safety and had learned to smoke cigarettes – or cigars, in the end it didn't matter. A stray spark in the heat and the world went boom. Greg couldn't see it but could certainly smell it in his heightened state of awareness – fresh, infected blood, similar to his own – and the stumps of two legs still flying through the air. The rest of the owner was a smear on the ground, charred in places and unrecognizable.

oOo

The Controller made a mental note to cut down on nicotine for the masses. This was embarrassing, or would have been, if a parasite could understand the concept of embarrassment.

oOo

A hail of bullets greeted the infected; attracted by the mess and the sweet-sweet smell of something tasty to eat. Sheva came out of the dust like an avenging angel, Chris at her heels. The two of them worked together, almost a sort of dance, born of a single-minded desire to defeat the enemy…but it was nothing like Chris had once been; when Jill was at his side.

He had to keep that from his mind. "This…is getting bad." Chris wrinkled his nose. "We need to call in an evacuation now-"

Sheva leaned over him, her strong fingers pulling the collar of his suit free, the zip catching for a moment on a fold. Greg gasped painfully and she steadied him as Chris continued to watch over the pair. "It won't happen."

"Sheva, we have to do something-"

"This isn't America!" She snapped, the stress of the situation making itself known. Dark eyes flashing, she fixed him with a glare that could curdle milk. "No one is coming to help us. The BSAA came in here to clean up the mess and all they've done…all we've done…"

Leaning in close, Chris shot her an equally awful look. "If it's the BSAA, it's _everyone's_ business, bankrolled or not by Tricell. Not to sound harsh here, but the States doesn't always help its own either." _They certainly didn't help Raccoon City._ He fished around his pockets for anything that could help Greg as he lay there, bubbling painfully beside them. "TriCell were an international company, so it's an international problem, Sheva. Greg? Can you hear me?"

"…Yeah." Slowly the pain eased and his breathing was restored. His wrists burned, and Greg flexed his fingers. "I'm okay." He wheezed. "Just stunned."

"_Excuse_ me?" Chris growled. "Think I'm blind? How the hell-"

"Fine." Greg said again, and slowly pulled himself up. Blood still dripped from his lips, dripped from his nose and he saw a fleeting glimpse of understanding – then terror - in both the adults. The pause went on for a little too long, his pale eyes darting from face to face, but to his credit Greg did not try to hide it. What was the point? Everyone was found out at some point in time. "And before you ask, _no_, I'm _not a biohazard_. I know what you're thinking." Chris' face went red, anger or shame, Greg didn't know. Sheva was now hurriedly wiping her bloodied palms against her clothing, faintly grey. "A biohazard needs to be infectious. I don't transmit. I can't. So this…this is nothing. Just irregular." He coughed, and up came a piece of lung. It was painful, but Greg had had worse in his checkered past; far worse.

Drawing her gun, Sheva stood up and pointed it at the crown of blond curls. "What _are_ you?"

"Not important." Greg bubbled. "How are the recruits?"

"They're retreating – Josh is…helping them out." Chris looked to him, looked to the alleyways, hunting for some sign of movement. Following his gaze, Greg chuckled, his right leg starting to spasm as his body continued to heal. "I'm with Sheva, here. I need to know what's going on."

"That?" Greg asked, deliberately avoiding the subject. "Chemical vats. Probably salvaged. TriCell was still operating a lab complex, even if it was evacuated before Oroboros was set free. All that hazardous stuff had to go somewhere."

"But we didn't see anyone down there, nobody except those…things…" A pause. Chris had started to drop his gun; but now brought it back up again, concentration restored apart from the buzzing between his ears. "_Don't change the subject_."

"Majini. They're also known as _Plagas_. Only read about them." The youth continued, ignoring the adults around him. "We have a window to talk, make peace while they find friends and come back to get us." Greg pulled himself up further, and popped the chest plate of his suit, allowing himself to breathe. Oxygen. Good, clean air, or at least as clean as he could get it. The air felt thick with the humidity, only a whisper of what was to come before the storm. "I think - and this is just from talking with the whitecoats – is that these are the domesticated version of the ones in the wild."

"Huh?"

"This world is full of really weird stuff, Ms. Alomar. Didn't you know that?" There was something nasty in Greg's voice. "European, mostly. Very old parasite, if what I've read is right. These guys are much newer, much easier to frighten. I can…" He moved his head from side to side. "…Hear them." The guns slowly dropped, curiosity overcoming both of the BSAA agents. Healing was tiring, Greg's eyes fluttered close as he continued to try and breathe through the pain, the shredded insides that had once been his left lung.

"Hear them…?" It was the tone of his voice; the expression in those kind eyes. Sort of tragic.

"Six billion cries of agony, Mr. Redfield." A whisper. The words made Chris tremble. Even the tone was similar, but not the expression. Greg suddenly looked old beyond his years; tired, as he struggled onto his knees. "Can't speak. Not properly. But they're scared. Too scared to listen to their controller, and boy, it's a doozy. Almost as loud as the Queen, and damn I don't ever want to hear from _that_ bitch ever again." He raised a hand, pointing at Chris, and he saw the boy instead of the man. "This has gone all stupid. Part of me wants to blame you, y'know, but in the end you're probably the one constant. And one day, you're gonna do the same thing. Gonna end up like them." He struggled for a moment, pulling at his gloves, exposing a thin strip of flesh and a welt of skin that looked inflamed. "Can you hear it yet, Mr. Redfield?"

Sheva glanced at him, still holding the weapon level. Around them were the noise of the Majini, calling reinforcements and a few awful crashing noises. "What's he talking about, Chris?"

He was shaking his head. Denying. They _always_ denied. It was a brief, but telling moment, the way he moved his free hand to his wrist, the way his gaze dipped just for a second. The horror, in his eyes. Greg felt a pang of sadness. "It's not a bad thing, Mr. Redfield."

"_What the fuck are you."_ Came the hoarse whisper.

Greg rose slowly, coughing one last time and then straightening up with the aid of a fence post, composing himself. Running his hands through his hair and smoothing it back. "I'm an ally."

A burst of static made them all jump. "Have you finished with this soap-opera shit yet? It's getting boring." Josh sounded angry. "We have a lull in big nasty psychopaths. Can you idiots get back behind the barricades we're making?"

"Barricades won't stop them." Greg muttered. "We have what they want."

"Heh, maybe, but we can make 'em work for their meat-suits." A pause, which then became a sneeze. "Sheva? Sheva."

"Josh? We're busy-"

"And so am I. We can't spare a helicopter to get you to where you need to be – you're wasting time here killing off these guys; when the monsoon hits anyone in the general area of the lab is going to drown. I want my team back. Get the fuck on with your mission, or get back behind the barricades so I don't have to talk to either of you ugly assholes, understand? Someone in the BSAA came through for us. Doctors Without Borders are a couple of hours away. Scrambling some trucks, apparently."

Sheva couldn't meet anyone's gaze. Mostly she just looked angry. _Maybe_ a little relieved. But mostly angry.

Chris reached forward, hesitating just as his hand reached Greg's face – then his hair. Grabbing a fistful of the blond curls he dragged the boy up and towards him, looking into his eyes. Looking for traces of it. Traces of Wesker. They had to be there. Somewhere. Despite being in pain, Greg watched him solemnly. Only when there was a clatter of gunfire as the skirmishing started up again, did the youth reach up, gently untangle the fingers and push the hand away.

Unsure if she should intervene, Sheva just stared. She'd seen a lot of weird stuff these last few months, and was content to let this continue provided nothing violent happened.

Chris straightened, still suspicious, then turned away. _If he did have a son, he wouldn't have called him Greg. That's too mundane for him. Adam, maybe. Or something really, really pretentious. _

"You okay, Mr. Redfield?"

The silence dragged out for almost too long; not even the insects could bother to chirp in the heat."Fine." Came the growl at last that told the other two he was clearly not fine at all.

And then Sheva was cocking her weapon, and Greg was fiddling with ammunition and they saw something rise a block over in a shower of splinters and a crumpled car. Something howled at the dark sky.

"Starting to hate my job." Sheva hissed.

"If you turn on us, I will kill you, understand?" Chris muttered.

Greg nodded. "I wouldn't expect anything less of you, Mr. Redfield."

A stalemate.

Sheva finally broke the tension by uttering a string of Swahili that could only be a lot of swearwords and assumptions to both of the guy's parentage. It was enough to make Chris crack a smile despite how bad he felt, and Greg just went bright red, right to the tips of his ears. He only had a basic grasp on her language, but understood enough to know what she was talking about. She checked her ammunition once more before blowing a stray lock of hair out of her face. "When you two have quite finished, we're not too far from the rail yard. If we retrace our steps, we might make it in time."

"Retrace…?" Greg looked to her then to Chris. "You've done this before?"

Chris frowned. "Yes. Unfortunately. So try to keep up. I'm not feeling charitable enough today to come back and help you if you get stuck, okay?"

"Sheva's your favourite, huh?"

The older cuffed the younger lightly over the head. "Just hurry up."

**ARKLAY, MAY, DATE UNKNOWN, 1998**

_Disappointing_.

The lab was dark and silent, how Marcus preferred it when he came down here to brood and rest. Now was _not_ the time to rest, because there was so much work to do…but something like this would be found, and that wasn't right. He just needed…time. Time, and the space to concentrate. Umbrella was going down, or, more to the point, Ozwell Spencer, a bastard's bastard if Marcus had ever met one – and Umbrella was full of people like that. He knew two particularly _nosy_ bastards fairly well. Were Birkin and Wesker still being wet-nursed by that scheming madman? Probably.

Marcus ignored the thought that perhaps _he_ was the madman, because he knew he couldn't _possibly_ be mad. Yes he was a colony of leeches, but he was a damn _hot_ colony of leeches banging an equally hot woman and planning on world domination. That wasn't madness, that was getting your priorities _right_.

He unlatched the various security mechanisms before they could set off yet more alarms, then nudged the door open of the chamber. For a moment all he could smell was antiseptic, over the human smells of something still alive, although for how much longer he wasn't sure considering the T-Virus was already running rife through the complex and the creatures would be up and about soon. Hah!

For a moment the Queen rose inside of Marcus, watching with great interest. He soothed back her fears as they both – as one – watched the sleeping woman. Having to explain to his guardian angel that this was most likely a failure was difficult, because she had senses that he had not, and if she was ruffled then he had a reason to tread carefully. It still meant that Spencer's beloved Wesker Project was going to fall flat on its arse despite any sliver of success as far as bonding and metabolizing the nasty stuff went. It hadn't been intended for a plebe like the one before him, but-

Marcus jerked, turned his head aside and vomited. Only a little. Only a singular puddle of slime; but enough to know he had to disappear and find somewhere safe. Birth was difficult, in this form. But rewarding, at least.

He reached in and unhooked most of the apparatus feeding drugs into the woman's system. He hadn't had the heart to explain to his darling (_both_ of his darlings, he had a heart that big) that the chemicals were probably hampering the serum's grisly work, but what was done was done.

If the plebe was able to function, it would be interesting. It would also prove everything Spencer thought was wrong. And Marcus liked proving Spencer wrong.

"Be seeing you." He whispered in Evelyn's ear, his voice a warm caress in an otherwise cold world.

oOo

It was a single Hunter.

It had escaped in the first part of lockdown, killing its handlers and then terrorizing a section of level four when the team transporting it had panicked. It had prowled, unmolested, for the best part of an hour until it had spied something tasty to eat in the shape of young Terrance Williams, who had at that point in time gone out to get a soda. He'd seen a few spills in his short time of working there and had been complacent. He'd paid for it dearly, as had his friend, Lars. When they made a run for it, the Hunter had followed. This was all new to it. Exciting, if a creature born from nightmares could be excited.

But it was still an animal, even if it was enhanced, programmed with a Pavlovian response to kill anything that made a sound. The mind of Vincent Hall was leagues ahead of such a creature, regardless of its power and after a few stern words and threats he'd managed to pull together a group of people armed with whatever they could carry (someone had even brought along a desk-top lamp) that would make a dent on the Hunter's ugly face. As a group they were strong, provided Vincent kept them together.

It was herded and corralled into one of the processing halls. It was difficult, a few scratches here and there-and just when they had it, someone freaked out and it got away.

Not too far away, working on the huge printing presses to keep his mind off of what was happening, Eric Anaru had been entertaining the youngster who just…wouldn't stop asking questions, or making demands. Kind of like his father. Although the brattish behavior stopped with the Hunter decided to explore the machines and almost caught the kid. The Gameboy met an unfortunate end in a puddle of drool, and the child needed a new pair of trousers.

The Hunter had picked the wrong prey, however.

Eric played cat and mouse with it amongst the massive rollers, the ink-wells and the rolls of paper that took two men to lift. The kid just hid somewhere under the machines, somewhere safe where the creature couldn't get it.

Fancy footwork and a warming up press was all Eric needed to drop the Hunter into main section and flick the switch. Umbrella's in house printing was efficient and surprisingly cost effective, and as the creature bellowed, caught up in the flimsy paper that had once made up the instruction booklets of so many of Umbrella's products, the bellowing became shrieking and then a messy, squelchy silence when the Hunter discovered that it could not stop the rollers.

_Nothing_ could stop the rollers.

Eric threw up on the floor, and felt better for it. And when he retrieved the boy – the now quiet and awed boy, eyes wide with hero-worship – He did his best not to show the kid what had happened. But kids are kids.

"Why isn't it really red? Like in the movies?"

Eric tried very hard not to be sick again and decided it was time for someone else to take on Mr. Nosy-parker.

The T-Virus present in the Hunter died quickly when faced with the rupture of cells and the chemical composition of the inks. But in the cuts of those who had fought it when it was alive, that was a different story. Immune systems lowered by stress, it was only a matter of time before the itching started. The fading of eyes.

The hunger.

oOo

Evelyn Jackson dreams of fire.

She dreams of dark skies, and stars, and a fire. A fire that traces through her veins and warms her, cutting away the threads that bind her to this dark quiet place. The fire and-

(Can you hear us?)

-the stars, the cold, they had kept her quiet, but now the fire _roared_, eating up the chemicals and the things that should not be there, _angry_ and _vengeful_ and _**possessive**_.

Evelyn Jackson dreams of fire, and a woman in flames, a woman who is linked to her but _not_ her, and in her hands is the drum of gasoline and-

(Can you hear us now?)

-there are no regrets, and she hates herself for it, but she doesn't remember why she's holding it because she _can't_ be holding it-

(Wake up)

-and the dream twists, and she's rising, growing tall like Alice in Wonderland except there's no Eat Me potion, and in her mouth is blood, in her veins fire, and she's _rising,_

_ rising _

_higher _

_and_

_**higher**_-

(w

A

K

E

U

P)

-Evelyn came to with a very unladylike snort.

The door opened. She wasn't quite sure how it happened, but woozily she got to her feet, tugging at the apparatus in her arm. Power out? Or just a shut down? They happened sometimes, didn't they?

_No. No I don't think so. _Something was wrong. She knew this building, knew its creaks and sighs, its quiet times and its busy times. While her body clock couldn't tell the hour of the day, every other sense was standing to attention.

Evelyn rubbed her eyes, feeling stiff from the fall and not altogether…there. Slightly feverish. This movement brought on shooting pains down her arm – groping in the dark she felt the plastic edge of an intravenous drip, but what the drip was she couldn't be sure. Struck with revulsion she tore it out, rewarded with yet more pain, and the hot splash of blood across the medical gown she wore and the exposed flesh of her leg. Evelyn trembled in horror, more and more aware of her surroundings – a box. A box with creepy equipment attached to the top, things that caught the light just a little, metal things, things with tubes –

_-something small, defenseless, beating itself to the sides of the cube as they watched and took notes, T-Virus, they said, regeneration of flesh, but all it did was kill things, and there were smears all over the glass-_

Her brain flipped the image back under the mental rug, and Evelyn stared into space, wondering what had happened, but deciding that escaping? That was _much_ better. Better to pay attention to the leaking in her arm. To getting out. Tearing at the gown – cheap and flimsy material, the sort they used for operations – she made a makeshift bandage and wrapped the oozing vein up.

Evelyn wanted to sit down and have a bit of a cry, try to find out how many days she'd lost because the bruises said she'd been here a while. But the the lab was suspiciously still; and there was no life at all that stirred within the walls except her own heart. This was Kendra's lab – and she felt ill knowing that.

_Have to get out. Now._

One of Kendra's lab coats was hanging on the pegs by the door – she took it, put it on, for a moment surprised at the faint whiff of perfume and lotion the woman used. That and something else; mould. Damp. Wrinkling her nose – wasn't that smell everywhere, now? – Evelyn tried the door.

It opened to her touch.

Again, that strange jolt of otherness. Biting her lip, Evelyn looked around, trying to see if there was anyone in the darkness, but…nothing. _Okay_. Check the pockets, nothing there. But there was a pass-card hanging from beneath the expensive looking little red number that hung on a peg a little further away; one that was far too short to cover anything decent. Evelyn pulled apart the lab as quickly as she could, looking for anything that might be a bit warmer.

Oddly enough, an employee t-shirt. Probably from a promotion some time ago, the red logo bright despite the lack of light in the lab. It was a man's t-shirt, but fit well enough and stopped some of the draft. Over that went the lab-coat. How mortifying. No underwear. _Where is my stuff? What happened?_

Pass card around her neck, Evelyn opened the door as quietly as she could, peering out. Here there was light – bright, almost cheerful light, but also the faint hum of the Red Queen, watching over all the labs. No voices. No footsteps. Nothing.

A flicker caught her attention and she turned – a florescent light not quite working properly. Well…if there was still electricity…

Right about now someone usually calls out. It's as if there's instructions burned into the very core of every human being – creepy situation, call for help, call to see if there's anyone there. But Evelyn was someone who had had that part of her removed, she had learned from a very early age that people rarely came to help you if you called out. If they _did_ come back, sometimes they brought a bigger stick.

Still watching the corridor and straining to hear anything, she stepped off the linoleum and onto the carpeting. The aches – ghosts of aches, really – made themselves known, but didn't bother her too much, she would worry about the damage later when there was time. Something else caught her attention. The softest of whispers-

(Hear us)

-And she turned around.

Kendra's lab was big. The corridor ran the entire length of the lab, with no viewing areas, just paneling, down to a pair of t-junctions on either side that would branch off to the other labs. In the bright light of the other hall, Evelyn saw a person, or at least, something that looked like a person. Except people do not flicker like old film.

Behind her the door clicked shut, and refused to open as she tried to get back in. The wet noise on the other side of the door was barely audible, but her heart pounded when she realized that she had not, in fact, been alone in there. Something. Something wet, something slippery, had been in there with her.

_Oh my god!_

Flattening herself against the wall, straining to see, the person – man, by the shape of it, still facing to her right – just stood there. Shaggy, strange. He turned, and Evelyn saw a glint of red-

(Run)

Eyes, so many eyes, eyes opening up all over his _face_-

(See you see me)

-A circle of _red_, something jogging in her memory, balls of fire, miniature red suns -

(Run)

And something rattled behind her.

This _was_ a man. And like the fire in her dream, she could see a faint flicker around him, but this was something different, something wrong. The flames of her dream had been friendly. This momentary trick of the light, of her eyes, was something else, something…bad. Lurching, the man stretched out his arms, hissing to himself before keening gently. She'd never heard anything so sad.

Head lolling to the side, eyes rolled back, brows creased, he called again, long and low and hopeless. Behind him other voices were sounding, just as frightened, just as sad, more hobbling and shambling as more bodies came into view. _Accounts_. She didn't know their names, but she recognized some of the faces. Evelyn backed up, towards the apparition, ignoring the plea – because it _was_ a plea. And just on the edge of hearing-

(Help us!)

-was something, something she couldn't quite understand.

Evelyn shook her head, and then glanced over her shoulder. The apparition had either moved on, or been part of her imagination.

When Kendra's door opened a crack – and when she saw the shiny, silvery eyes that glowed from within, the eyes that took her in and promised hell, Evelyn bolted.

oOo

The departments began to retreat as rivalries made themselves known, try to find somewhere safe to hide, safe to try and treat the ill and weak, but then one of the accounts team was found wandering down the halls, shambling almost, and then he bit someone, tried to eat them, and suddenly there were little knots of them, wandering the hall, shambling, moaning, hungry all the time, barely coherent as they fought the urge to rip you apart.

Vincent called everyone back to the library. It took a while. The labs weren't returning his calls. The remains of the IT staff were in their bunker. No-one was coming to help them. The director had stopped threatening people. The managers were getting quiet.

Vincent didn't want to reveal his own agenda yet, but from his vantage point on the mezzanine level, looking down at the milling groups of people trying to make themselves comfortable before the end, he knew he was being pushed into the role that was always meant for him down here. Around his neck was a single key. The locker that belonged to that key was two floors down. Level Four. The weapons locker. _Risk it?_

"Vincent!"

His dark eyes picked out one of the human resources staff, waving by one of the few internal phones on this floor. He clambered down the steps, ran to the man, ran to the call and to the voice. "Mr. Hall?"

The tones were silky smooth and made his stomach twist. "Hello, Doctor Bhattacharya."

"I understand you're having some difficulties?"

There were multiple layers to that comment. He tried to hide his displeasure. "We're surviving but we need information and help."

"Get some of your strongest together. We may have a solution to your…dead…problem." A pause. "Are they really dead?"

"Pieces are dropping off them. I wasn't aware that this was a live exercise, Doctor."

"Someone's feeling spontaneous. As we all know, Red Queen will keep us on lockdown until the virus is dead. It won't be long, it spreads quickly but an able immune system should be able to counteract it…at least it did, in tests. Now we see what's really going to work. In the mean time, we need some strong, able-bodied people, yes? Get them together. Meet you at level three, in the canteen. At the moment your path is clear."

"Sure."

"And Vincent?"

"Yes, Doctor Bhattacharya?"

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Those that matter are pleased with your performance so far. Looks like it wasn't a mistake putting you into this team."

Vincent fought very hard not to throw the phone across the room. The people were falling apart and this was how she acted? _I'm in over my head._

His hand drifts to the back of his trousers, hidden beneath his jacket. His pistol. He's always worn it since Kuwait, people just turned a blind eye. Now it's loaded, and an extra clip is strapped to his ankle. He'd seen enough of Umbrella's internal workings – knew enough from his boss – to have an inkling as to what is coming. But he hated waiting.

_I'll try Wesker again. He has to pick up at some point. The office? No. It will raise suspicion. Someone has to know; someone who can get through to the higher ups. It's too early. These are civilians. These are not the mercenaries I was promised. _Vincent looked down at his hands as he crossed the floor, back to his desk, back to the floor plans and his own machinations to keep as much as possible safe. _Damn you Sergei. Damn you._

oOo

It had to be luck.

Evelyn refused to believe that it could be anything else, despite the fact she could smell and hear them before they came. Hordes of them, people who were no more than shambling corpses. Whatever was cruising through her veins was doing something to her; brought on by the adrenaline spikes every time she ignored that little internal voice and almost went headlong into a pack of…people? Was that what they were?

Zombies?

It had to be luck. Had to be.

Where had everybody gone?

oOo

The doors broke open.

Something had been at the double doors into the central library for hours. Bashing away. Desperate to get in.

They scrambled behind the barricades. They tried to find things that would be useful. In the makeshift corral of desks, the wounded, the sick moaned and cried, as the living watched them and wondered if they should throw them out first. Everywhere, panic. Everywhere screaming. Without the level headed team members, it was bedlam.

Something slithered through the cracks, brown and mottled green. Something huge. Something that was happy to throw itself against the barricades, or sweep the stragglers off their feet. Some plucky soul had managed to get behind it, start up the engine on the forklift that had been used as a door stop up until the tentacles came through. That was a mistake; because the tentacles found him very easily. From there it was a very short, crunchy trip that only increased the screaming ahead of the creature.

The Leech Queen was _starving_. Marcus with her, driven by their shared instincts, but with enough sense to stop her from getting herself killed on the way up through the complex's many levels. With Kendra making peace with the other researchers (hah!) down below, he was free to do what he liked to the test subjects. One human alone wouldn't feed the growing brood in his belly, but the knot of panic that lay behind those walls of metal and paper certainly would.

oOo

_Hesinthwaite is the first to run. He's the first behind the barricades, and the first to scream at people to raise them. He doesn't notice his son. He doesn't care about his son. At the moment, his own skin is what he wants to save, and as the kid screams for him, trapped outside, he feels a freedom. There are no guns, but he makes do with a chair leg, beats them back when they try to reopen those gates, let the thing through. Fuck that._

_Feed the creature, get some rest. _

_He smiles, but the smile is wrong. Nobody is eating much now, and he's slimming quick. Kill off the unnecessary, they're just numbers, he's not alone in thinking that, they can make it, the company will come and get them, it has to-_

oOo

Susan pulled herself up, spitting blood. The stampede had knocked her over, and now she lay against the stacked chairs, staring at the devil as it slowly slithers closer to the khaki grey walls of the shelving. Her first thought was for Vincent, but she couldn't see or hear him; but then that was because he wasn't there. Eric wasn't there either. They were on some mission for that bitch, Kendra.

The creature moved past her, ignoring her as she sat up, stared at the fallen around her, thrown aside by the initial entrance. Some moved; some didn't. One man tries to escape and a tentacle whips out and wraps around him, pulling the helpless sod into the creature's massive, crocodile-style jaws.

Susan managed to look away, cover her ears to blot out the screaming and the crunching. As it is there's not many of them now here – the doors are open on the other side, and despite the slippery floor, some were going to go out into the corridors and brave the walking wounded.

Walking dead, more like.

But the kid! She stared at the little boy, getting up, mouthing abuse, screaming at the creature-

-to leave his dad alone?

And her heart broke. _Oh god, no, honey. No. _

The little boy had grabbed a heavy looking book, and was heading for the thing's tail.

oOo

People rushed past her through the crack of the doors to the main lab.

Evelyn took no notice of them; the otherness in her pulling her faster and faster to something…important. Her heart pounded. Distantly she could hear music, a beautiful, thrilling tune that she…needed to hear. It wiped away the fear, made her head buzz, made the very blood in her veins fizz with bubbles of anticipation.

The floor was slippery, but Evelyn did not have the misfortune of brogues or high heels at that point – her toes dug in and found traction, pulling herself through the cracked doors into the main lab through the slime and gunk-

-And her vision clouded, showing it in full swing, what they did here, snapshots, voices, people-

"_Doctor Marcus…"_

"…_Not now, boys-"_

_Men, not boys, one pale and mousy, looked sick, driven. The other, recognizable, but it's been a million years since Evelyn Jackson has seen the sun, seen anything normal. A glint of black and-_

-Her trip to this level had not been hard, not when the sick were so easy to avoid. But the world had sharpened to a point and she stared at something born of nightmares, and knew, _knew_ that this was the creature she'd glimpsed in the lab. It didn't notice her but she didn't need to see its eyes, the smell was enough. The smell that was on her clothing. And Evelyn knew without a doubt that Kendra was aware of this monstrosity.

_This is a nightmare. A very real nightmare. But a nightmare, nonetheless. Any minute now I'm going to wake up next to Derry. Maybe I'll be late for work or something, but this isn't real. _She clung to those thoughts. _Then I'll quit Umbrella. I'll become the housewife he always wanted me to be. I promise. Just let me wake up. _

People yelled. People screamed. The metal dented and buckled, difficult for it to climb over because of it's weight, it was wrong somehow, sick or injured…

"Hey! Hey!"

She turned to see a child – a child? Here? – running towards it. Hurling a book. The papers billowed out of it like a snowstorm as it arced in the air and fell just short, the edge catching a shivering, slimy tentacle limb. It turned.

oOo

The boy stared into the face of death.

He didn't understand death. He didn't understand much in life. He'd always been protected and nurtured if spoiling a child is considered nurturing, and had everything he wanted. Even things he didn't want.

So when those silver eyes took him in and the great whips rose, ready to claim him, the boy felt a strange sense of calm take him. His body didn't shake. He did not cry. Somewhere inside his soul, the man who might grow from the boy were his life not to be cut short said 'at least I tried'.

The tentacles came down.

oOo

_(Go!)_

_She's never moved so fast before. Her mind is blank._

_(Go! We will catch you!)_

oOo

He was flung across the room, and landed hard, but his landing was against something warm and something that was not quite soft, but softer than ground. Winded, the boy gasped, struggled against the heavy weight that trapped him. Trying to raise his head, he looked back at the creature, who had decided that this wasn't worth the trouble – the barricade was much more interesting.

One of the shelves went over. The fall was very slow, and files rained down around them. Someone screamed, crushed beneath it. Several people, but the boy didn't know. He wanted to sleep, suddenly. Wake up somewhere else.

The body rolled, heavy against him, the pain forcing him to stay awake. A lady lay there, eyes half open, a dribble of blood out of her mouth and she jerked like she was alive, but she wasn't and he knew that because the thing, the monstrous thing was pulling it's long whips out of her-

-and he turned, stared at the monster, the monster with a man's face, and stopped thinking about his father. About his mother. Instead he thought of the faces of the people who had shown him more love and more respect in these awful days than he'd had in his whole life. He had no idea what they were actually, but people had spoken to him and made him feel welcome-

-And that thing was going to keep eating them.

He had to do something.

The boy got up, running as best he could to bodies, trying to get people to move. From person to person. Some were clearly dead. Others, like Miss Susie, cried when he reached them, crying like children. And then the shadow was over them and the boy turned, trying to lift up Miss Susie, because he liked Miss Susie and she was trying to get up too instead of giving up, and he watched the creature draw itself up, cocking its head to the side as it faced them, salivating gently.

The boy stood as tall as he could, and stared the creature down. Holding out his arms to defend the woman that crouched behind him.

This time the creature was not going to miss. And there was nobody there to save him. He closed his eyes but didn't huddle. He would try to do the same thing the lady did, and save kind Miss Susie who knows all these dirty jokes that were probably too old for him, but with a laugh that was so infectious, and –

-There was a rush of wind, and a grunt, but there was no pain.

The boy opened an eye, expecting a trick; as the light was already blotted out by the monster, but now there was warmth, an incredible warmth in front of him and he looked up, gazing into the red and white logo of Umbrella that rippled above him, splattered with streaks of blood.

oOo

_The song is sung. She knows the words despite never hearing it. Voices, billions of voices, rise in chorus, and she rose with it, spreading wings of static and fire as the voices soothe the blood, soothe the pain. In that moment of union-_

_(Do you want to save them?)_

_Evelyn had never felt more complete, more in control._

_(Of course I want to save them. The boy is just a child. Susan is in danger. Where's Vincent? Where is Eric? Where are my friends?)_

_Molten liquid coats her bones. Slides into the parts of her that hurt and pull her back together, winding up the spill of guts and kissing away the trauma._

_(You want to save them? This is what you do…)_

oOo

Evelyn Jackson, riding a high of adrenaline and neurotoxins, opened her copper-tinted eyes and wheezed a sigh from the holes in her lungs. The rapidly healing holes. She could taste blood, and it ran hot down her torso, hot across her lips and her chin. One arm raised, cocked, she'd blocked the blow and had barely moved an inch when the weight slammed into her. The lab coat was wrapped around said arm, absorbing the blow and the spines that would follow, but how long it would last she wasn't sure. Out of the crimson, her thoughts began to crystallize and focus - the enemy needed to be put down. Now. "You okay?" She asked through gritted teeth.

"Lady!"

"Sit tight."

"But _lady_!"

"It hurts, yes, but I need you to be quiet." Evelyn muttered. "I need to concentrate." _Heaven help me I need underwear. I was not made for running about unrestrained!_

The beast seemed surprised. That was fine. It could be surprised, right up to the point she'd kick it in the face.

"Lady, why are you not wearing any-"

"Susan, shut him up, please." There was a sob in answer, and then a yelp behind her as the boy was grabbed. "We don't talk about this, okay? Ever." Another grunt as the creature tried on the other side, but the world would twist and jerk, becoming slow then speeding up. Evelyn saw after-images…or were they pre-images? Lines of static, traces of harmless lightning of where the beast was going to be, and _moved_-

oOo

Susan watched her friend…blur. Suddenly Evelyn – kind and gentle Evelyn – was several meters away, before…blurring again, leaving traces of dark behind her, dust perhaps, the woman wasn't sure. It wasn't humanly possible to move that fast, but then it wasn't possible to have a creature like this ripping apart her co-workers. Susan found her legs again, grabbed the boy by the hand and pulling him away.

The motions weren't perfect and there were times when Evelyn misjudged her landings; sometimes the tentacle whips moved just that little bit faster than she did, but the creature couldn't stop her scaling its carapace and landing a heel in its face. The crunch was satisfying.

Somewhere in her mind, Susan knew that the physics were practically impossible. A woman of her size and stature should not have that much momentum, but as the creature twisted, and Evelyn avoided the snapping jaws, the hits and kicks she landed – completely amateurish and bad – had enough driving force behind them to shake the creature. Almost knock it out.

"Holy shit." Susan whispered, finally able to find her voice. "What have they done to you, Evie?" A pause, Evelyn was bar-brawling with this monstrosity _and winning_. "Replaced your innards with steroids and coffee? Christ-"

oOo

Well _shit_.

Shit, shit and double shit.

Marcus wasn't one for swearing, but his anger pulsed wildly through the Queen, enough to catch her attention. Fuck sticks. The serum worked. Incomplete, Marcus thought as a foot slammed into the Queen's jaw and cracked chitin and sinew, but…wow!

_Kendra, you're a genius, my lovely, lovely girl. _

Except it had worked on the wrong person.

Or had it?

Twisting and turning, the subject was always out of reach. He'd have to step up his game, but the brood came first. A tactical retreat, perhaps. Yes.

oOo

They came back hours later, grubby, and oily, and filthy, but they came back honest. Vincent staggered into what remained of their base camp and stared at the destruction. Eric swore softly behind him.

"Who did this?" Vincent called out. Lights flickered, and all the while he could hear groaning. Scuffing. "What did this?"

The others behind him – some men, some women, fanned out. It had been a grisly, awful job trekking down to the incinerator to see if it worked. Most of the parts had been delivered, and the reprographics team had put everything back together seeing as it wasn't that much different from the presses, but the researchers had split once they'd returned to the building. And there were more sick people wandering the halls.

Sick, mouthy people. Some of the team had bites before they'd kicked their attackers away. Not much fight left in them, moaning 'sorry', and 'but I was hungry'. Itchy bites, too.

Vincent had been quite careful. He'd made sure Eric was careful, too.

A bit of a screwball, likes his drink, his women, and to laugh. But good in a crisis. Eric Anaru was on his list. So was Hilary Elspire, Len Yun, and Richard Gaines. _Get them out alive. Get them out sane._

Director Hesinthwaite staggered towards them. Vincent did his best not to grimace, but behind him he heard Richard spit on the floor. Eric on the other hand just folded his arms and glared.

"_Where the fuck were you_?" The man screamed.

"Trying to find a way out." Vincent replied, cold and sure. He wouldn't lose his temper over this, but there was no way he could make sure the others behaved.

"Look at this! Look at it!"

Eric tried to push in front of Vincent, but was held back by Len. "Where's your boy, eh, bro? Where is he?"

"That thing came in here! That thing ate people! That thing-"

"Mr. Anaru asked you a question, Director."

The big man fell silent. With a twitch of his chin, Vincent took in the parts of the scene hidden by devastation – In particular where Susan was standing, with the kid, and bandaging-

"Fuck me, Evie's back." Eric whispered, and bolted past them.

Dropping the pretense of caring, Vincent followed, pausing only to shout out instructions over his shoulder. "Find anyone you can trust and watch for bites! We need to find food…" _And water that can be boiled._ Susan was bruised, but otherwise fine. Seated, and looking embarrassed was Evelyn, except…

"Please don't stare." The woman said softly. Her eyes were the colour of fresh copper, pupils slitted like a cat's. They were wrong. Very wrong. Vincent had seen eyes like that in the monsters Sergei loved so much; and to see them on someone he knew with was disconcerting to say the least.

"What happened?" Eric pulled up a seat that had miraculously survived hurricane Big Bad Monster, straddling it and leaning on the backrest. "What happened to your face?"

"The monster came in and ate people and then it poked holes in her, and then she grew back." The boy said, sitting beside her and swinging his feet in space.

"Monster?"

The kid beamed.

Susan sobbed softly, but finished binding the wound – not that she needed to. The cuts and grazes were healing before their eyes. "It'll come back. I know it will."

This would need to be reported, Vincent thought. But not yet. There would be another run down to the facility, to try and get into it. Try and make it work. Until then he'd have to piece together what happened. He could have a biohazard sitting in front of him.

_Kendra. I need to call Kendra. And find out what the hell Wesker left in the weapons store. _

It was going to be a long night.

**PRESENT DAY**

The crocodiles were gone.

Chris noticed this and felt it was very important. He noticed that Sheva had picked up on it too.

The crocodiles were _gone_.

A trick maybe?

Or something else?

Because the whole world changed as it got darker, and suddenly just having a gun didn't seem quite enough. Hating himself for it, Chris cut the motor of the airboat until the craft just drifted.

"Chris?"

"Sheva."

"Why did you do that?"

Christ, even the crickets had gone. Chris could feel himself breaking out in a sweat. He wished he could have called Claire before this mission happened. Said something to Jill. He managed to keep the tremble out of his voice as he spoke again. "Sheva, can you be quiet for just a sec?"

(Ask him)

Chris looked over his shoulder, seeing only the blades and the grating that kept them safe. Nobody was there. He'd certainly not heard-

(Wesker)

-Anyone, because that would make him, you know, mad.

"Hey Greg." The kid raised his head, looked him in the eye. Surprisingly relaxed for what had happened, but then he was slouched against the side. "You hear stuff, right?"

"Not when people are talking."

Sheva suppressed a nervous snort of laughter.

"Don't be a brat." Chris sighed. "You hear anything now?"

Greg stood carefully, leaning on Sheva for stability. The sky was dramatic, the oranges and golds of the sun and the purple, grey and black of the growing thunderheads. He turned his head from side to side, eyes closed. Then his nostrils flared and Greg seemed to…shiver. "No. Everything's gone."

"Almost makes you wish we were being chased again." Sheva whispered.

Chris nodded. That would have been much easier. You knew where you were with noise. "The crocs are gone. I'm almost wishing for Irving to pop up out of nowhere." He went to start the engine, but Greg held up a hand.

Maybe it was the way he did it, or maybe it was because he knew his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. In the horizon he could see the first outlines of both the oilfields – and the cave system that would lead to their final destination. But there were lights out there. Lights that couldn't be real.

Sheva now stood. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Oroboros." Chris whispered. "But the light is…wrong…"

She glanced over her shoulder as she sat back down. "What else could it be?"

"Ffff…I hope we brought enough guns."

**~to be continued. **

_Enrolment month is drawing to a close which means I can write again! Hooray! Again, I need to apologize for the 'slow' pace of the Arklay sections. They will speed up. I don't know why I'm spending so much time down there, But I really feel I need to lay the groundwork for certain characters. I'll hopefully be able to speed things back up and bring in more canon characters over the next chapter. _

_[[Edit #2 No, Evelyn is not going to get off easy.]]  
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	7. Open doors and empty beds

_Having re-read the previous chapter, I need to apologize for Evie's vagueness and out of character moment. I will put this down to enthusiasm and her own disorientation, and rectify the situation now :x_

_AND PLOT HAPPENS. A LOT OF PLOT. TOO MUCH PLOT. _

_Warnings: Suicide, body horror and mentioned rape. Sorry guys :(_

_EDIT BECAUSE I DID IT AGAIN. Thank you for the reviews!  
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**PANDORA'S SONG**

**CHAPTER SEVEN:** Open doors and empty beds

**PRESENT DAY**

He left El-Amin to fuss over his subject, slurring slightly through the drugs he was taking. This was the one time where Sarton didn't voice his disappointment – with Valentine it was a shame, perhaps even a waste of good chemicals because the woman was a wreck and should have been treated as such – put down before she made the complete conversion to a goddamn walking death factory. Okay, perhaps not _completely_. Immune yes, to the virus. Immune to the failure of her body organs, not so much. P30 had kept it at bay. P30 had kept her mind protected. Weaned off it she would fracture and she would probably go insane. Better to kill her now then use her as goddamn bait for Saint Redfield.

But El-Amin, that was different. As much as he hated the little brown fag, Sarton knew he was required, at least until this mission was over. The _plagas_ made it difficult. Why else had they sent the Queen out to operate alone? If he needed something to calm his mind from whatever psychosis the viral agents brought on, best of luck to him. Besides – El-Amin was the poor bastard who'd drawn the short straw to patch up the Queen every time there was trouble. Cross infection _happened_. It didn't matter how many precautions you took.

_Creepy son of a bitch. Wonder what he's doing now. If he's still a he. Maybe today he's a she. Wish he'd make his mind up._

It would be over soon, now that Redfield was on the trail. Hip-hip hooray.

It was a short walk to the warehouse where the mercenaries were. Mercenaries? Better disciplined. Organized! A mere shadow of the UBCS from the old days with a bit of the USS mixed in. Cannon fodder, essentially. Sarton smiled at that thought, swiping his keycard to get in.

The warehouse wasn't anything particularly special, rented just for this occasion, but inside it contained a couple of UH-60 Blackhawks, three jeeps and a small container truck that provided transport for the twenty strong team, himself not included. The truck was a waste, but it was too late to go back to the rental company and return it. He'd have to figure it out at some time - it had to be used _somewhere_. Money was tight!

One of the captains saluted him. Tim Cain. Major. _Major Prat more like_. Sarton waved him away and walked onwards to the delicate woman who was hunched over a series of laptops, tapping away furiously.

"Doctor Bhattacharya." She ignored him. Beside her a couple of researchers scurried around – smaller specimens of those already captured _plagas_ mutations, monitoring equipment and a radio transmitter. They seemed agitated. More so than usual. "Kendra!"

"Henry." She replied, flatly.

He flung an arm out, indicating the activity of their little 'base'. "_This_? What is _this_?"

She finally looked up, straightened, and putting a hand on her hip. He'd worked with her for years on this project, and she still turned his knees to jelly with that look of hers. "_This_ is being organized. Something you don't do much of, I should think."

_Bitch_!

"We're not scheduled to move until we have confirmation something's been found!" Spittle flecked his lips. "Has something happened that you're not telling me?" Kendra had an almost perfect poker face. He had to go on. "We've been stuck in this dump for the last three months, tracking data and low feeds from that little _tit_ Irving, and we are _this_ close to-"

"Henry, shut up."

He fell silent.

Kendra slid off her seat, limping a little. With a crook of her finger to follow, he padded behind her, his scuffed brogues making soft flapping noises against the click of her little heels. "We are already moving into position, or did the flurry of activity here remind you of a church fair? No. We are moving. We are moving now."

"Why didn't anybody _tell_ me?" He whined.

Sliding an arm around his shoulders – difficult, as he was far taller than her, so she ended up with an arm around his waist, Kendra leaned into him with a secretive smile. "Henry. _Doctor_ Sarton. _Do_ tell me what's happened so far? A little recap?"

Sarton licked his lips, confused, and now a little worried. "Um?"

"Yes?"

"Well…"

"Sit."

He plopped himself down on a munitions box as several more of the mercenaries came past, loading up one of the jeeps with some fairly suspicious looking crates that whimpered and barked. "K-Kendra-"

"I am trying to be patient with you. Remember that." Kendra muttered. "We are here to collect what's ours. When Umbrella went under, and WilPharma started picking at our remains, we saw a lot of our work go down the toilet, Henry. And then, through some sheer stroke of luck, some low-life with a chip on his shoulder decides to let the G-Virus loose, and low and behold, WilPharma has its legs kicked out from beneath it. TriCell bought out the sorry excuse for a pharmaceutical giant, but also bought a fair few patents and licenses to things that were _originally ours_." Kendra paced as she spoke. "The G-virus. The T-Virus. Progenitor itself fell into that little snot's hands when we weren't' looking and…pimped! _Pimped_ by Downing into nothing more than _cheap child's toys for terrorism_! I don't think you understand how _outraged_ I am considering how many years I put into T. _What I had to go through_." A shiver he barely noticed, but a memory still shared. Arklay.

Sarton nodded, frantically. Frederic Downing. Good old Freddy. Great for a laugh, once. Rotting in jail because he was a dick. A massive dick. A _thieving_ dick no less! He'd nicked off just before Raccoon got really bad. Said he'd seen the future. Smug git.

Kendra continued, her hands moving to punctuate her words with open palms and bared teeth, her gold bracelets catching the light as she spke. "We had no legal standing. And when Downing messed up, here comes that Italian _tart_ Excella Gionne, on the arm of Albert fucking Wesker." Her smile was unpleasant. "And we still don't have legal access to it. And there were other copyrighted material we lost, that we _needed_. Now TriCell is wounded, and we have plenty of other companies – and freelancers – looking to claim our property. I don't want that to happen. You don't want that to happen. So we're here to collect, because Irving – despite his questionable taste and need to flirt with _anything_ sporting a pair of tits – came through for us and told us what they'd moved to _this_ location. Back to where it all began? Our old research? Our original virus? And even a nice new deadly strain, for free! We'd be mad not to take it." Kendra's eyes glinted. "Wesker _again_…you'd think by now he'd have caught on he's doing exactly what Spencer wanted, poor bastard. Except now there are monsters everywhere. And we need to get in there safely and without losing most of our troops. Sarton, you've been working with the BSAA for almost two years now as our mole, and you still don't get it, do you?" She gave him a spiteful grin.

He looked at his knees, feeling like a chastised schoolboy. "_Actually_…"

"Out with it."

"Y-yeah."

It wasn't a silence between them, but a tense moment of quiet amidst the clatter and shouting. Somewhere, something was beeping. Kendra looked towards the desk, for a moment shocked, but then it was gone. "The BSAA is specifically trained to deal with the things we create. We need them to think they are doing the right thing. They go in, we slip in behind them, we take what's ours _back_. Except this time, we have something to barter with."

"The woman, Valentine? What's left of her."

"Yes." Kendra stalked away. "We have our lives depending on this assignment. Despite years of service, our leader tires of our insubordination and petty rivalries. I have tried my best but…"

He got up and went to follow, but she'd stopped. People brushed past her, but she didn't push them away.

In front of the desk, a researcher had gone chalk white. He was staring at the read outs that were displayed on one of the laptops – readouts that cleared the other screens and started to scroll data.

"Bollocks." She hissed. Kendra ran to the side of the frightened researcher, pushed him away and started tapping away again. Her dark eyes reflected back the program's scanners. "Tell me this is picking up background noise! Tell me this is James!"

The researcher shook his head. Two technicians seemed to pop up out of nowhere and began to set up something else – something Sarton recognized. "Hey. Hey! Why the hell-"

"Shut up, Henry!" Her voice was quiet, unnaturally so. And the machine attracted attention – now the mercenaries were starting to look their way.

The screens continued to flicker before finally settling on something. The monitoring program itself finally finished its upload of previous sessions and recordings. He couldn't read them – Sarton had never bothered to take part in the program when it had been initiated by Spencer all those years ago, but the signal was vivid.

Kendra took a step back. Then another.

Did he imagine a stifled, hysterical giggle?

The main laptop pinged as the technicians finally finished working on the connections to the aerials mounted on the roof – the equipment was incredibly sensitive and by rights shouldn't be picking up anything, unless-

"How far is Valentine's degradation?" The researcher asked. Sarton couldn't answer. "How far?"

"Uh…uh…grade three." He managed, at last. "El-Amin would say better-"

Another ping. More screens opening up. Faces being scrolled through, some he recognized, some he couldn't.

Fingers fluttered over the keyboard. "It's…transmitting. We're getting a signal that's bouncing around. That's why it's distorted. It could be faked."

Kendra shook her head when the machine pinged one final time. The windows blipped out, leaving only the scanning software that was now reading something constant, a crown of light that rose and fell as the aerial picked up the minute waves of sound – if that's what they could be called – and matched it to the database. Sarton peered over shoulders, noting the name.

"Weren't they recalled?" Sarton asked, hopefully. Despite it being a pain, recalling BOWs were fun. You could kill them and nobody got angry with you.

Kendra held up her hand to silence him. "It could be a trick. The _Plagas_ are getting smarter. They've never replicated a wavelength like that, and it might…just might…be an echo."

Sarton tried to think about the implications of something so awful. "But…what if they could. It's…possible, right? Theoretically?" A pause. "It's too hot for this."

Straightening, the little Indian woman stared up at the ceiling with a glassy smile. "Yes. You're right. For once. We bring exceptionally large guns."

"W-we're not going to take a sample?"

"Heavens, no. Call El-Amin. Make Valentine presentable, and tell him to bring his field kit. We're going to delete everything, and if Redfield gets in the way, we'll 'delete' him, too."

oOo

The choppers thudded out towards the storm. The pilots were concerned, but then they usually were – they were the first ones to die.

Kendra sat, strapped in and staring at the other members of her rag-tag team. She didn't have to be here, but this needed a personal touch. A very personal touch.

Ground troops would take longer to get there, but would set up a more permanent camp. Kijuju itself wouldn't go under once the monsoon finally broke, but it would be isolated. The trucks had been built up especially to take to higher ground and stay there. Enough clean water to keep the troops happy, and she'd taken the extra precaution of feeding them all _Pandora_ before going in.

Right now they were buzzing like school kids. They always did, when it was first introduced. Then you got like El-Amin and heard it all the time.

"You still with me, Maram?" He nodded, wordlessly. Pale. "Try to be focused. You'll get your reward."

"Kendra?" He rasped.

"Mmm?"

El-Amin adjusted Jill in her straps. She would wake soon, Kendra knew. El-Amin was tender to the American, perhaps too tender. Too involved. "I mean this in the utmost respect, Doctor."

She grinned at him, macabre in the growing darkness. "Oh, _do_ go on."

"Go fuck yourself."

oOo

A stained bathroom. Broken tiles. Scrawled graffiti, because the law of the universe states that all bathrooms belonging to truck stops require crude drawings and swearwords. Bottles littered the floor. There was a sink, but no water – it had to be turned on somewhere else outside, and the owner of the establishment had long since bolted.

His wares had been left behind. Another bottle opened, drank down, dropped to the floor.

The body demanded it. Needed it. Muzzily, the hunched form leaned against the tiles and shook as the cellular regeneration continued, weaving bone and sinew. This was something automatic, if useless because…there were times when you knew your body couldn't take much more.

(…)

Copper eyes glinted. Some clothing had been found between skimirshes. A hooded jacket, a loose pair of pants. Pale skin fret worked with blood vessels and scars, it had to be _covered_. The epidermis was regenerating slowly but painfully over the exposed muscles and bones, and-

(_I am coming_.)

The body twitched, breath catching. A moment later coughing violently, splattering blood and black mucus on the floor. Wheezing, trembling, trying to stand. Talons – perhaps more fingers now – scratched at the throat again, at the black bar visible there.

_Not long now. Not long now._ Almost a prayer. Swaying, pulling the door open, the being left the tiny safe place, the only quiet place in this hell-hole. There was still fighting going on. A lot of fighting.

(**I am coming.**)

_I…I'm scared._ It's been too long since there was an 'I'. The self spun like pieces of broken glass, trying to form a picture, and a guttural whine echoed in the tiny space, a memory long buried trying to resurface. _I'm scared. I don't want to be like the others._

And it wasn't a physical touch, no, it was an impression, a brief sensation down the twisted form's back, a loving caress, a presence both alien and familiar to soothe and comfort. A whisper that was barely more than a breath.

(_**Be ready**_**.**)

Was that possible? These parasites, they were coming too. New beings. Dangerous. It – they – had not had to fight like this before, but they would rise to the challenge, oh yes. Tears, with slightly more blood in their content, made tracks down the dusty skin as those bright, fiery eyes squeezed shut. Yes. Because there was no more time. It was not meant to end this way, but a promise had been made, _oh yes_. Time waited for no man, woman, or bio-organic weapon.

(**Oh yes**.)

_Need more time._ Came the silent pleading.

(**We are ready**.)

Begging now. Bloodied fingers scratching against the tiles as the fight continued in the flesh, nails torn and ragged. _Need more __**time**__._

(**We are ready**.) For the first time in their union, there was hesitation. A moment of closeness, parent and child, visions of the elder, great and powerful and many-things, with the inexperienced at its feet, trembling, cobbled together in a barely functioning collection of cells. Touch. Closeness. Something that could verge on affection, if such an emotion existed in this storm of instinct and purpose. Thought. A loving whisper. (**You. You are ready. You **_**will**_** ride to war**.)

The eyes open, but the vision was blurry with tears, and the irises returning back to their cat-like slits. _**…Yes. **_

**ARKLAY, TIME UNKNOWN**

_We need more time. _

They dismissed the defense as luck. They dismissed _her_ as an anomaly. When she disappeared after a day – day? He wasn't sure – after the last time they'd been down to the crematorium, Eric wanted to raise an alarm, but the group as a whole did nothing. They just fought. A lot. Some were finding God. Some were enjoying the violence. Others had disregarded all morals altogether and things were approaching something similar to gang rule. At the centre, always the centre, were the bullies, the short-sighted dick-heads who had no idea of the danger, bartering what little food and water they had left.

Those researchers brave enough to come out of their precious labs looked people over and said they were fine. Eric knew they were lying.

But it wasn't just turning into a walking corpse that was the problem. They were _organized_ walking corpses.

_How long have we got, eh? How long?_

oOo

Septicemia.

It was the fancy word for 'my body is trying to kill me'. Evelyn had hoped to crawl away and die in peace, but death was proving very hard to find despite people dropping hourly now – if the clock on the wall was correct. All kinds of horrible things were happening to her insides, but after a few hours it had leveled out to just…pain. Her guts had stopped rebelling at least.

_I want Derry._ Even if he'd just, sit outside. And make faces. And be grossed out. He'd make her tea. There was no tea here. There were few comforting words and even less food.

It had been one of the sleeping offices the overnight staff used. Mattress on the floor, desk, a couple of office chairs, a few viewscreens that lacked a connection to the Red Queen's main line of communication, it was a shell of an office waiting to be filled. Now it was filled – with anxious people.

(_Live_)

She shook off the thought, and in doing so shook off the hands that held her. Tired. Feverish. Sick. But beyond reasoning, able to move. Coming back. The kid's body was warm beside her – Greg, she thought. Moppish hair, cherubic face now he was asleep and no longer asking questions like where the bruises were coming from, and could she go back to the bathroom and throw up across the room like that because _that was cool._

Susan sat on her other side. They'd squirreled water up here. Done a food run or two. Here was a convenient hiding place for stuff. People were already turning to God. Evelyn closed her eyes, frowning as the cramp rolled through her body again, arms and legs twitching for a bit as she clenched her teeth, rode it out. Hilary – nice woman, never met her before until now – was then over her, holding her as Susan put something in her mouth to bite, stop her grinding her-

(Good to bite with)

-Teeth, which were sharper than normal. Others. Eric. Len…Lenny, yes, a few times in IT she'd met him. Not an IT guy. Admin. Like her. Except nice. Not like IT. And Richard. Richard who seemed mousy and insignificant behind his weak chin and weaker facial hair. Richard who liked numbers, Evelyn remembered. Richard who was so boring nobody made jokes about him.

She was also having difficulty missing her partner. That was a first. Or was it? Where were these thoughts coming from? But they were true. And she hated herself for that. They were the only ones keeping the rest of the…the _herd_…alive. "Ow." She mumbled, feeling pathetic as the cramp ended, and the examination begin. Again.

"Sorry." Maram continued to look her over, difficult now that he was wearing one of those hazmat suits she'd seen in the locker. Fear and rage pushed the worst of the fever away, the shivering mostly under control. At first Evelyn had wanted to push him away, but those big gloves were difficult to escape, and he needed to check her eyes again. Take more bloods. "Just a little longer."

"So is this the serum, or is this…Tyrant?" Vincent was waiting by the door of the tiny office. "Because nobody else is experiencing this."

"No, they're the walking rotting." Maram rolled his eyes. "We're talking mass changes on a molecular level, mutations happening very quickly. Her body is fighting back. Just…" His hands fluttered, helplessly. "The body is turning on itself. This happened in all the tests. It's messy, as you can see. The infection is too great for her immune system to keep up. I could give her something to make it quick-"

"No." Evelyn growled. "I _have_ tried to die. I have sat in a toilet stall for the last couple of hours, and all that happened was springing Alex and two guys doing things that even at my age, I'm not supposed to know about. Makes it hard to concentrate."

Susan giggled, but then shushed herself, hands fluttering in that useless way of hers when she was genuinely scared and couldn't muster a brassy nastiness that was her trademark. "Evie!"

"Which bathroom is this again?"

"_Eric_!"

The big man shrugged, the office chair he sat on creaking as he did so. "Can't blame a man for trying, Suzie-poo."

Vincent ignored them, focused on the 'patient'. "How long did the others last, Doctor El-Amin?"

Maram paled under the light of his hood. "Mr. Hall-"

"How long?" He persisted. "Forget for a moment Red Queen is monitoring us, we need to stay alive!" They locked gazes for a moment, and suddenly it didn't seem like a top researcher speaking with a administrative manager. Susan almost scooted back herself – Vincent's gaze could melt steel. Maram held out for a measly five seconds before breaking.

"…twenty four hours." Said the other man, his voice quiet. "They succumb within twenty-four hours. The serum was programmed to act quickly if the host wasn't good enough. U-usually around 18, if they're strong. We've not tested it on the genotype we were tailoring it for-"

"Are you kidding me?" Susan exploded. "I thought you said this was _performance_ enhancing, I saw some pretty enhanced performances back there-"

"Think of what would happen if this got onto the black market." Vincent snapped, dragging Maram to his feet and holding him close, spittle flecking on the man's viewing plate. "It was specially made under the orders of the CEO."

"J-Jackson has cleared thirty hours." Maram met Vincent's gaze slowly, still wilting beneath that stern glare. "Sh-she's still breathing. Her fever's up, but I don't think she's reached levels where her brain might be damaged. Her immune system is struggling. Yes, she should die. But the serum's other use is to make a person better. I think right now…it's still trying to change her."

"Like the T-Virus."

"Except keep her alive, or at least something else."

Evelyn rolled her eyes. "_**She**_…she is still here and in this room."

"Sorry, Evie. This is just a formality." Vincent muttered, shaking his head, slowly letting the researcher go. "Is this going to happen to anyone else?"

"…No." Maram gulped. "Th-This is a live test, and its gone wrong."

Vincent sent the researcher sprawling across the room, knocking him painfully into a swivel chair, the suit making him clumsy. "Gone wrong? Gone _**wrong**_? People out there are preparing to kill each other because they're starving to death and you say it's all _gone wrong_? We're going to be up to our goddamn ears in lurching, biting infected people, and you tell me it's gone wrong? _What the hell else could possibly go wrong_?"

oOo

Umbrella has unwittingly found itself in the pornography business. The snuff movies were doing well too. The site was simple to update, and Mouse maintained it with the help of a few of the less well-meaning researchers and technicians. Live feed slid like oil across the fledgling internet, and was lapped up by those who knew what they liked. She loved this sort of thing. It was one of the reasons why she'd needed to take the job in the first place, and plenty of Umbrella's higher ups liked the kind of filth she could dredge up from the depths of the internet.

People fighting. People dying. In desperation people turn to violence. They turn to sex. And sometimes they turn into monsters. Arklay's dramas were beautiful, and dark, and terribly arousing for the little woman, glued to her screens. She had to share. Everyone had to know.

It was the hottest thing Annette Birkin had ever seen. And when her husband saw it, and in the afterglow, he wondered if he could up the stakes. After all, this was Kendra's fault. And Kendra was a danger to him at the moment. Time to up the stakes. It's not impossible to call to Arklay if you knew Red Queen's back doors. And Birkin, in his fits of paranoia knew a fair few ways into the system. And researchers loved gossip. Even better, they loved a good fight.

So when they find out who's responsible, _well_…

oOo

The Petshop was open for business.

The labs locked down one last time, the last of the food taken, if experiments were not being watched, then they were glued to their screens. Making bets. Watching the filth get taken down by all the creatures and beasts they'd created. A truly live, contained study. Brilliant.

Web-Spinners patrol the halls. Plague Crawlers make merry in the abandoned labs with the Eliminators. Hunters swagger in the mess hall. Lurkers are in the bathrooms, but with them it's a sort of sport. Humans – infected, not infected – are against them all.

There's no narrative. Maybe this is lucky.

The walking rotting were angry. They were frightened. Their brains were firing strangely and making them do weird things, and people they _thought_ were friends aren't helping. They were _running away_. Pricks! Bastards! But there was some solace in this. Their thoughts are starting to blur together. It was almost…soothing. They knew each other. Intimately. There was no fear, and there was no judgment between them, man and woman, old and young. Old barriers between departments began to break down in a communal need to keep each other together – sew on the bits that fell off, find food, protect each other from the rampaging healthy buggers who just needed a little bite to see the way. The closeness. The…_network_. Hive. The T-Virus didn't care much for class, or race, or sexual preference; it had bonded them into a shared mindset that was loving, and forgiving, if only the pain and the itching would stop. And the monsters. The _monsters_.

Or the living. The hurtful, angry, frightened living. So they set traps. They tempted them out. They turned them. Showed them the _light_.

Few of the living kept their wits about them. The numbers didn't add up right, but there was an alarmingly small percentage of people were only just keeping their wits about them were staging the food runs, and tripping the traps so no-one gets hurt. They're always the same. Vincent's little chosen team. _Traitors_!

The barricades remained defended with what little manpower there was left. The little spiders got in sometimes, but they could be flattened with files. Lurkers are just an amusement for all – the arse-end of the BOW development, really.

It's when the man in the white coat comes in and starts preying on the women, that's the problem.

It's not a question of being prudish. It's not the fact that there's no preventatives left in the bathrooms. There are, like, four of them. Identical. _And they were not there before._

Not even the infectees were comfortable with this, because they're having the same problem. The human body is a good breeding ground for these…creatures. And nobody is safe. The violations are continuous, the infectees mercifully turning on those who had been used, killing them before the spore has a chance to grow.

The researchers – before he, or they – find a way into their particular safe place, thought this was hilarious. But when the white-robed 'men' got in there, too, well, it's not so funny anymore.

oOo

The shadow he cast over her stretched to the back wall. Vincent blocked out the light, she only knew it was him from the subtle variations of scent she was picking up. That was strange enough, but perhaps not the strangest process she was getting used to. Everything was evolving. Everything was changing.

Everyone took a spell up on the barricades. She found herself doing it more and more because she could pick up what was coming sooner. Here and now she could feel the skinless things moving around a few labs away, and the lurchers were quiet for once. Planning something.

_I'm so hungry. _

"Evie."

Evelyn took a breath before she looked up at him. Took another. To Vincent's credit, he didn't flinch when their eyes met, not even a flicker crossed his gaze. "Hi." It came out too hesitant, and now _she_ shivered, knowing what was to come.

At first Vincent didn't answer. Instead he crouched down in front of her, running his calloused fingers through the start of a graying afro. It was his anxious motion, and something she'd picked up when not thinking. Derry hated it when she -

(Derry?)

-The walls came up in her mind, concentration driving the imagery away as the thing – whatever it was – tried to find out more.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine." She lied.

His eyes narrowed briefly, but he nodded. "I'm not going to bother with small talk, because I know you're smarter than that. You know why I'm here."

Goosebumps broke out over Evelyn's flesh. It was getting harder and harder to scrounge food. The mess hall had been picked clean by critters, the vending machines were starting to run out of Twinkies. "Mmm. But…but I want to know. Are you asking me because you want to, or are you asking me because you need to?" Vincent rolled back from his crouch to sit down, staring up at her, completely mystified. Evelyn felt wretched. "Of all the people here, you're the one with the most connections. So you probably know about um, what was planned for this."

He flinched. Ah-ha! So she wasn't just being paranoid. "I know some of them." Came the grumble.

"So you figure you should send me down to the locker as I'm the only one that can?" He stared at her. Her stomach flopped. "It's in the f-floor plans. I know it exists and I know it's recent because I took an order down there, um, before this happened. I told myself we had that much artillery because of the monsters and things." The shuddering breath came out as a strangled sob. "I didn't think we'd be using it on people."

"If there was any other way, I'd do it. But right now you're all I've got." Now Vincent couldn't face her. Brows furrowed, he searched through his hair again. Those curls, how much had they seen? "I'm going to be honest with you. Right now there's nobody else I would trust. Not just to make it down there, because I know that part is going to be difficult. But coming back. You're keeping your head."

"I'm infected with a mystery virus and my company wants to kill me, Vincent. If I was not keeping my head I'd be dead already."

"Will you do it?"

Damn. She felt heat prickling behind her eyes. _No, they're not my eyes any more. They're someone else's. Swallow the fear. Swallow it down. You will do this. You will do this because it's __**right**_. "I'm scared, Vincent."

Slowly and with great care, he took her hands from her lap and squeezed them gently. Her skin flushed to contact, and she felt the blush move over her like a red wave, washing up her arms and over her head. It was over in a heartbeat, but the eddies it left behind were confusing. "You mustn't be scared. I'm here. I'll help you. I will teach you how to fight."

"And if I said no?"

"Evelyn, you do not have the luxury of saying no."

"But we're all going to die down here anyway-"

"Your choice, my girl, is how you choose your death. Either you go down fighting like the person I think you are – not anyone else – or I call into effect subclause 82b of your contract."

"Excuse me?"

He moved like oil and secrets, soft, silent and quick, his stubble tickling her cheek as he breathed in her ear. "You're infected." Vincent said gently. "From the moment that accident happened and you took Umbrella property into your body, your rights as a human being were revoked. Evelyn Jackson, _you_ are now property of Umbrella. And I can invoke my right as a Monitor to have you…put down."

The red was now replaced by white. The pupils of her eyes constricted to slits as she digested the news and what it meant, what this man she had trusted actually _was_. Every sinew in her body sang to escape, to fly out of this room and find somewhere else to hide, but that would never work. Sod the monsters. He would find her first.

But the Vincent who pulled away from her looked tired. Old. "This was never supposed to happen. I don't want to threaten you, Evelyn, but this is the situation."

She struggled to answer; none of the words seemed to fit. "I thought the Monitors were just a rumour."

"How else would we keep a place like this under control? I'm taking a risk telling you. You have my secret, as I've got yours. And I can safely say I want to get out of here alive too." He unclipped the gun from the holster and pressed it into her hands. It looked huge there, but Evelyn took the weight of it easily, and her heart began to slow again. "Let me teach you. I would not ask you if I had any other way, but you…if what Maram tells me is to be believed…immune to the T-Virus. Something else is inside you, yes, but it is controlled. You've done runs for me in the past. Now I ask that you do them again. Alone."

She was trapped. Evelyn closed her eyes, shuddered once and tried not to hear the clamoring in her veins for battle. "…Okay."

oOo

Evelyn was not a good shot, but in the end she didn't need to be. Vincent had given her enough in training to at least survive; but her own instincts – if that's what these afterimages could be called, because madness should make you a lot more twitchy – were very helpful too.

She found Maram on floor four. They had thrown him out. Faceplate cracked, he was cowering behind a bunch of crates, with another researcher beside him – the plant guy.

Evelyn suppressed a shiver. It had been hard enough to get down through the warren to find the weapons locker, now she had passengers. Most of the creatures had sort of…melted away…when she'd been close. Or was it because she'd known which route was safest? Curiouser and curiouser.

"They threw us out. They threw us out!" Rocking back and forth, the plant guy continued to tremble, obviously in shock. His oxygen tank was running low.

"Wouldn't have mattered." Maram breathed. He sounded sticky. Evelyn knelt beside him, a tangle in the baggy, borrowed clothing that had been found for her – all company issue. She was by no means that devoted to Umbrella, but it did help keep the cold breeze from her nethers and for that she was thankful. "Hello, Evie."

"Hi Doctor." Her answering smile was as weak as his.

"What brings you out on a day like this?"

"Is it day?"

"Don't know. Mouse has stopped updating the systems."

"WE ARE GOING TO DIE."

"Be quiet, Henry." Maram struggled to stand up, pull himself out of his suit. "If I'm going to die, I'd rather it be peacefully-"

Scritching made them quieten. She drew the gun, shaking as she did so.

(Can't avoid confrontation forever.)

"Shut up." She muttered. It was getting insistent, that voice. Her hallucinations were stabilizing, and the problem was they actually _meant_ something. Except the six-eyed guy, but he usually just…lurked. The gun shook too much in her hands to check the chamber, but if anything came at them, she'd…she'd club it. Right between the eyes.

"Gimme the gun." Reflexively she jerked back as Henry – that's right, Doctor Henry Sarton, yeah, _the plant guy_ – tried to swipe the weapon out of her hands. "HEY!"

"HENRY!"

The Hunter shot down the corridor, and too late realized that one of its prey was coming up fast.

_Justdoitjustdoitdon'thinkdon'tthink_-

Sarton screamed like a girl. The Hunter bubbled, and Maram just…_stood_ there, _staring_ at her. Judging her, maybe. She heaved the carcass off her body where it had fallen, right as she'd put the handgrip through its eye, rupturing parts of its brain. It all came down to brains in the end, didn't it. He thankfully looked away when she gagged at the smell. But she'd not eaten since…a fair while. Nothing came out.

"You gonna be okay?"

"Yup." Came the grunt. There was a splash of bile. "Not the first time."

"Watched you." Maram's voice was awed. "You're amazing. The tapes-"

"Don't want to hear about it." The thought sickened her further . She'd noticed the cameras moving around a lot.

"W-where are you going?" Sarton whined at last, still not properly standing but trying to dig his fingers into anything he could get his hands on – mostly Maram's legs. The other researcher was carefully peeling off his suit, still sweating, wiping the blood from his nose. Blood streaked the inside of the faceplate from where his face had connected with it. "WHERE ARE YOU GOING?"

"I am going to the weapons locker. You are…I don't know. I didn't think anyone would be down here."

"They threw us out. I knew it was a risk going out there to treat people, but I figured they would understand." Maram trailed off, blushing ashamedly in the darkness. Oh shit. Oh _bless_. Had he genuinely thought that…? Yes. Yes he had.

Evelyn watched him for a moment before toying with a disobedient lock of dark hair that had fallen from its hastily tied back ponytail. Her voice was surprisingly gentle. "It won't matter in the end."

"THEY _WILL_ GET US OUT. I KNOW THEY WILL. WE'RE TOO IMPORTANT-"

"HENRY. SHUT THE FUCK UP." Maram finally exploded, rounding on his companion and tugging at his suit. Sarton came alive in that moment, thrashing about – and ultimately drawing attention. Eyes gleamed in the half-light, a couple of Crawlers making their way down the hall. Evelyn had no idea what they were actually called, she figured they were just very big, very nasty cockroaches. And they were a bugger to put down.

There was a pop and a hiss as the other man's helmet came off and he gasped in the gloom like a dying fish. Maram had him on the floor, using his weight to pin the taller man down, try and keep him still and-

"You know, once you get past the smell, it's not so bad."

"_Henry_."

No choice, now. "Guys, we need to move. Back down the corridor, okay? Slowly. Stay behind me at all times."

"I'm not taking orders from a freak-"

"Henry. Shut up, or I leave you to them, okay?"

oOo

Greg was looking for his father. He was starving, but maybe his dad would have something for him to eat. Maybe. His dad and the managers had everything because they were important. But they'd been shouting a lot recently, and there'd been a fight or two. There were fights all the time on the ground floor, but if you were in control, you didn't fight. That's why you were in control, right?

He tried not to listen to the groans and whines outside the barricade as the sick people tried to get in. There were sick people inside the walls as well, but for the moment despite being weak, Greg didn't really look all that appetizing. Possibly because he was the first down there when the scouts came back with food, but that was for the stories, less for the food. They would look after him, and talk to him, and hold him, make him feel safe. But they weren't here now.

There was just his father. Up on one of the mezzanine offices. No one else was paying attention so he climbed the stairs.

oOo

The passcard opened the last of the security locks, Maram's fingers were slippery with sweat and he kept his ears peeled for noise. Trust the Webspinners to make their nest here! The darkness constantly rustled despite the partial light from the glow-sticks he'd found buried in the legs of his suit.

"How are you doing in there?"

"Almost." Henry was wedged between him in the door, shaking like a crack-fiend. Maram tried to pay it no attention, nobody smelt very nice, but at least their wounds were healing. Tommy's wasn't. Or Lisa's. Actually… "Evie?"

Silence. The darkness shifted a little. "Yeah?"

"What did you mean when you said it didn't matter anymore?"

"'Cos we're all gonna die." Henry whispered in his ear. A moment later he groaned in pain when Maram punched him in the stomach with more force than the researcher realized he was capable of.

More movement in the darkness. On the edge of the glow-sticks' feeble light he could just see the company logo, plastered on the seat of the young woman's tracksuit pants as she backed up. "Maram, do you know my history over the last couple of months?"

"No."

"Okay. I'm not a trouble-maker? but I _am_ someone who sometimes forgets to keep my mouth shut."

The door swung inwards. The room was tiny, but packed with all sorts of metal things that looked dangerous. Heart pounding, Maram almost fell inwards when Sarton darted in, whimpering to himself as he tried to pick up the biggest thing he could get his hands on – but was too weak to lift it. Then he balled himself up on the floor and started to cry.

Maram felt nothing. "Tell me what happened."

"Health and safety report." Evelyn's voice was slightly distorted. A moment later there was a horrible screeching sound that almost made him jump into the saferoom, but instead he wedged himself between the door and the frame as shadows danced in the sickly light, punctuated by growls, hisses and a cry of human pain. It was over quickly, despite Sarton begging him to shut the door. They'd die in here if they did, even if they'd die out there if they didn't.

"E-Evie?"

"Mmokay. Bastard got me in the leg. Arms are bad. The others are keeping their distance. Regrouping, almost. Did you train them or something?"

His smile was grim. "You tell me yours, I'll tell you mine."

"The labs are outfitted with charcoal air-filters. Old school ones which work provided the upkeep is…ah! That stings! Provided the upkeep is maintained. Filters need to be at least a couple of centimeters thick. I noticed that accounts had been paying for a lower-grade variety. Literally cutting them in half."

Maram's stomach flipped. Sarton voiced it. "Say _what_?"

"I pulled them up about it - For the hotlabs this is, um, bad." Evelyn came into the light, streaked with fluid that was not her own. Clothing torn, hands and arms scratched and still with quills stuck in the flesh. She pulled them out as she spoke. "But you know what management's like." The grin was hopeless on the woman with the eyes of a demon. "They told me to push off. When I went over their heads to the ombudsman, I had an official warning put on me. The filtration systems are useless – the suits can't protect you from the virus. Those filters can't protect you from anything."

"Fuck me." Sarton moaned. He backed into a shelf, and a moment later it rained bullets. "Ahhhh, ahhh _fuck_."

"Serves them right. I feel okay. Do you feel okay, Sarton?"

"Tommy had wounds all over his arm! He said they were ulcers!"

"I will take that as a yes." Working methodically, Maram picked out the mostly likely to use weapons – smaller hand guns, shock prods and grenades belts. The boxes of ammunition were heavy, but Evelyn showed him how to reload – with some mistakes of her own as she was just used to the big gun on her hip – and they were partially full.

"If we drop some of this off in different areas, we should be okay." She mumbled. Sarton wasn't allowed a gun, no way in hell. Or a grenade. Right now he was too afraid to do too much, but-

"Evie?"

Something in the way he spoke. She looked around, but saw nothing except for a cranky spider in a corner that was watching them and wiggling its forelegs angrily. "What?"

"That might be difficult." Maram lowered his voice, but wasn't sure why. Pressing close to her, it was an almost intimate gesture if he didn't look so scared. "_They_ will get it. The infectees. They're not completely dead yet, they have some higher functions. We've never had this on such a large scale, I'm wondering…"

She shivered. "You think they'll take the supplies?"

"Might do." They both looked at Sarton, unable to hold all the grenades in his hands despite trying desperately. "Sounds like a horror flick, doesn't it?"

She wrinkled her nose. "A B-grade one from the 60s. 'Zombies with Guns'."

"Hah."

oOo

"Dad?"

He didn't turn around, but kept working on the cable in his fingers. The other managers hadn't moved properly in a long time, their eyes pearling over as they groaned and whined, tied to the tables and the chairs. Stinking, rotting, occasionally gutturally begging him to either release them or join them.

"Dad."

The director had stopped caring about his son, the little creature that tagged along and begged for food and cried, cried, cried. It was possible he'd never cared about the boy, the boy was simply a means to an end, but of late the boy had been…less of his mother's son, and more of an annoyingly questioning little snot. Gregory Hesinthwaite was there to take on the company once his father died. But now there would be no more company. Not if this was Spencer's legacy.

Twisted asshole. But brilliant, thought. Hesinthwaite had to give him that.

There was no more time now. Only one gun available at that moment, the one held by the big black man with the scars on his arms. Ex-military; he was built for it. Calm despite the danger. Was he in on it? In on this nightmare. And he'd given it to the fire-eyed girl who was probably one of Spencer's little experiments. Vincent Hall. One of Sergei's men. It would figure that would happen, although how the Russian had such authority over the lives of men for them to just…throw it away…was unbelievable.

But Hesinthwaite wasn't going to end up like those sorry, shambling bastards.

"Daddy? Why are there sick people in here?"

They'd poisoned the water. The top people got the most water, so Hall and his band of Umbrella wannabees – that lumbering oaf Anaru, the slag Vanderhilde and the hangers on that worked with them had probably infected them – infected him! On purpose!

_On purpose!_

"Daddy?"

Shit. He looked down at his son, framed in the light coming from the door and suddenly felt angry. If it hadn't been for the kid he'd have been out nice and quick. This never would have happened. He stared down at those trusting eyes and thought of the boy's mother, thought of the divorce papers. Not that it mattered now.

"First rule of the world, kiddo." He said to the boy, his big hands coming down and ruffling the child's hair.

"What, daddy?" He'd stopped asking to get out after the second bout of yelling and that stinging, embarrassing slap. "Why're you holding that cable, daddy?" The boy trembled. "Why're you on that desk?"

He grinned, and threw it over one of the exposed metal beams that had been installed to hold the ceiling panels, testing it to see if it held. "Like I said, kiddo. First rule of the world. Every man for himself."

He stepped off the desk.

His shoes fell off when he danced his last dance, spinning in mid air. They reached for him, and the heavy furniture creaked but they were unable to move, just claw at the air, claw at his shoes, cry and beg for food.

Greg flattened himself against the wall, and then slid down it, staring at the pendulum of his father and started to scream.

oOo

"Something's wrong."

"Apart from the shambling dead people?" Sarton had warmed up a bit, but was still being annoying.

Evelyn hesitated, wondering if she should open up another glow-stick. There wasn't much light here – the lurchers didn't need light so they tended to break the bulbs – glass crunched underfoot. Normal people needed the light – and their feet. Some of the labs were active here, casting pools of light in places, with the occasional worried, hooded face peering at them. Or writing signs. Sad signs. She'd stopped reading them after the first couple.

Evelyn felt it crunch under her borrowed boots – filled with socks because they were several sizes too big – and found herself thankful that besides the pain of a stomach full of pins, she could _see_.

And what she saw wasn't right. Grabbing both of the men she pushed them into an abandoned janitor's room. They clanked horribly with the weapons, enough for her to wince, then peer out again. Apart from a few lurchers, who were cowering too – there was a man in white-

-_I know him!_

Carrying _Susan_.

oOo

The barricades were open.

Eric cradled the boy in his arms, he was cold and quiet and nothing could warm him up. Not that it mattered. The leech creature had come back. It had been a man, and then a leech, and it had stolen away Susan. He'd seen the man around before – he – or it – had been one of Alex's squeezes, in fact, where the hell was she? Who had let the guy in? Had he always been in there? And then the slime! The teeth!

"Eric!"

Hilary was looking up at him, face pale.

"Where's Vincent?"

"Putting down management! All of them had turned, Eric. It's in the water. Its-"

"Slow down!" Richard now. The balding man held her gently as the words became sobs. "Eric, we need to put everything back together-"

He was already vaulting down the steps, and shoving Greg into Hilary's arms. "Hold him. Keep him warm. Do we have a radio? Someone needs to tell Evie."

"Why Evie?"

"'Cos she went to the weapons locker." He ruffled the boy's hair and gave Hilary a quick kiss on her forehead. "I need to see Mouse. Her team can track this fucker and see what's happened."

oOo

The trail ended in a lab she'd never seen before and a sinking sense in her belly that said too much.

Evelyn had never spoken of her dreams with anyone. The visions and hallucinations were put down as stress. As side effects of the concoction percolating inside her.

Level 6.

And she was sure they knew about it.

"What's down there?"

"Classified." Sarton moaned.

Maram watched her out of the corner of his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was soft. "The actual weapons. The ones we want to sell. Tyrants, mostly. And Progenitor."

"YOU TOLD."

The doors were partially open. Dark and unforgiving. Evelyn swallowed bile. Behind her, over her shoulder, the six-eyed man was standing there, waiting. One of the few constants down here, she realized, and now he was asking her questions.

(_You said you wanted to protect them_.)

"Shut up." _I know. I know. I promised I would. And I will. _

"No!" Came the whine at her feet.

"Not you, Sarton."

Grenades. Joining the Edge was a simple handgun and – at last – actual holsters for them. The jacket thrown to her by Maram had enough ammo in it to last a while. She paused for a moment to look over her shoulder, but the man was gone again. She felt she'd pleased him this time, but there was no pleasing herself. Not with those doors. And the stink.

And the voices. The song. Different to the ones she had heard before. The ones she was trying to block out.

Maram touched her arm, the already healing arm where there were just little scabs now instead of weeping holes from the spiders only a half hour before. "Can you use these?"

"Not sure. Going to find out." She mumbled, through chattering teeth. "Keep the lights on. Shoot anything that approaches the door."

"You're going in?"

The man was at her shoulder, warm, and spicy smelling, so incredibly real even if he was just a hallucination. Goosebumps broke out over her flesh, as his words were breathed – literally breathed – in her ear. Stirring. Warm. Familiar. (_**So protect them**_)

"Mmm."

oOo

The door didn't open at first. It was stuck closed. It stank, and Vincent regretted forcing it open. Clothing splattered with blood and guts, the last thing he needed was the darkness that coated the carpet as the door finally gave in. Eric swore the air blue.

It had not been a quick trip down to IT, but it had been an eventful one. Some of the creatures were fast learners, once they'd started to be picked off by the people, they'd quickly learned to scuttle away once Vincent or Eric were on the lose.

There was no more IT department.

Red Queen's servers remained sealed, but the carcasses that were attached to the chairs with blissful looks on their faces told a story that neither man wanted to know. From the chest downwards their bodies were a mess. Something had come out of them. Clawed it's way out. _And they'd let it happen_.

Stepping over the muck – and leeches, strange leeches with eyes on their back, all staring and thoughtful – Vincent shifted his makeshift mask better over his face to hold out the smell. It took a moment to key in the codes, see what he needed to see. Face upon face. Office upon office.

"Shit."

"Vince, I don't want to be here no more."

"Take a look."

Eric did so. Paled. Because apart from the obvious – Umbrella was not coming and never would – there was a sign in the mansion. An important one. "Is that what I think it is?"

The goods lift had been fixed. Red Queen had not locked it off. The guy had been, and left an invoice note, and then he'd left. Eric trembled, wanting to run, knowing what it meant, but Vincent was already keying something else in.

The screens changed again, footage that had been recorded. And the same man – many of the same man. Doing awful, terrible things.

"It's using us to breed." Eric whispered.

Vincent pulled away from the console. "And it's not picky. Susan's going to be taken to Level 6. Evie is already there. We get back Susan, we get anyone else we can, and we _get the hell out_."

oOo

Maram almost shot them when they reached them. It had only been ten minutes, but in the darkness, ten minutes was an eternity. Weapons were exchanged. "Good luck."

"What are you talking about? You're coming with us."

"…Oh."

He didn't argue. It was the first time he'd felt safe in a long time. Loading a clip into the gun and noticing for the first time his hands were not shaking, Maram gently took Sarton's arm and followed the other two men into darkness.

**PRESENT DAY**

The Ndesu roared, practically running down the street towards them. How something that big had managed to sneak into town he didn't know, but Josh swore loudly and chased the recruits into cover – the vehicle sheds might protect them at least for a little bit. They had to hold out. They could. Right? Kijuju would be wiped off the map, but the survivors would make it out. They were _tough_. Tougher than tough. They were fighting back, and goddamnit, they were going to _win_.

The trucks would come here soon and would take the survivors away. And Josh knew how to deal with the rest of it – fire, and lots of it.

"Sir!"

"Coming." He called back, finding his way around the machinery and vehicles. In the sheds it was dark, quiet, until the thunder rolled. Then not so dark – Majini pulling open the doors and scuttling inside, mumbling to themselves. It was too dark here to use a gun, so Josh holstered his pistol and pulled out a knife, every nerve in his body tensing.

"Sir!"

"Shut up, Mosi! I can fucking hear you and so can our guests!"

"Guests-AAHHH" Gunfire. Something squealed and squelched. "Got one!"

"Yeah, and try not to hit anyone else. Private Taonga, Private Angelo, check the other exits and-"

"Sir! Sir!"

Josh ducked under one particularly enthusiastic Majini and sank the knife into its side. "MOSI. SHUT. UP."

"I found a survivor, sir! Um…"

_Um_? That didn't sound too good.

oOo

The Controller's focus pulled together on the building. The creature was here. The enemy. Devouring its flesh would make it strong, but at that moment it would settle for at least hurting it while it got the rest of these annoying bitey-hosts out of the way. With a twitch of its fingers it sent more waves of them towards the building, coupled with the – rather obvious, really – cautionary message.

The Ndesu, straining against its mental bonds, unhelpfully grabbed one of its smaller brethren and started beating the helpless creature against the ground.

The Controller met it's awful gaze and sucked its teeth in response. In a gesture that could only be translated as _fine, have it your way. You get shot in the arse, that is your problem_, the Controller stepped aside and let it through.

oOo

It didn't huddle amongst the crates. It stood. Swaying slightly. Fluid dripped to the ground, and there was a strangely spicy smell, subtle. Cardamom maybe, interspersed with something smoky. The figure was hooded, and as he watched, the figure reached up with its one remaining good hand and started to pull at something at its throat. There was the sound of gristle, wet breathy sounds, and then metal as the person – or creature – flung something away. It was a metal ring, a thick dark band with a center band of holes. Blood still dripped off it, blood that now coated the floor.

Josh had had enough of this.

He opened fire.

Then everyone opened fire.

The figure…blurred. Out of sight then in his face, a human foot – parts of it human, for a moment the red of exposed muscle and tendon was caught in the shafts of light and he was kicked aside, tumbling into the crates. The newbies yelled and screamed and shot randomly – by pure luck Josh was grazed instead of shot by one bullet, and the creature systematically put each of them down before stalking back into the shadows, hissing and rasping from a hole in its throat.

"Sir! Sir!"

"WHAT NOW. TELL ME. MAKE MY FUCKING DAY."

"BEHIND US."

"Ohhhhhh fuck my life." Josh gasped as the doors were torn asunder and the Ndesu poked its head in, grinning from its face and from the massive maggot that wormed its way over its shoulder. The grin did not make it look very friendly. The mandibles were the problem.

And then-

The figure had turned.

From under the hood, he saw glowing red light. Eyes, he realized. Then a third eye opened up under the left one, alternating above the right. And then another two. The hissing rose, and casually, as if shrugging off a shirt, the figure reached up behind its head and quite literally

ripped

it's

face

_**off**_.

The body split like a seed pod.

Something pulled its way out of the skin, a slow and almost thoughtful motion. Something impossibly huge, and wet, and dark, some kind of moth, or butterfly that would quite happily eat him for breakfast.

Trapped between them, Josh found the calm to reload his gun.

**-To be continued**

_I'd hoped to end Arklay here, but as it turned out, the characters decided against it and wanted to get a bit more gruesome. Besides, I'm starting to grow fond of Sarton because he's fun to kick. So instead of going on and on (which the chapter really wanted to do) I'll just have to figure out how the next chapter is going to go ;A; _


	8. God's Garden

_AHHHHHH._

_This story got a whole lot more complicated and not at all what I planned. I'm disappointed. And I'm sorry I'm not delivering the promises I was supposed to deliver._

**PANDORA'S SONG**

**CHAPTER EIGHT:** God's Garden

**PRESENT DAY**

He ignored the chatter around him in the 'copter.

He didn't need a scanner to know why the _Plagas_ were reacting they way they were – despite having done everything he'd been asked – and more – within the walls of TriCell, Maram had watched them and noted their reactions for as long as they had been a part of the research there.

They were afraid. Thus acting out, taking risks. Maram would be afraid too if he had a Queen patrolling the area – that was going to be a nightmare in itself when the time came. With any luck most of the nastier varieties were dead, as per instructions. If not, then the muscle power brought would be useful, if not dramatic.

Jill sat across from him, face calm, eyes half-lidded.

Sarton hadn't checked the solution when he'd been treating her for the P30 withdrawal. Maram was thankful that the man's carelessness had remained throughout the years – it made it easier to work, and he'd had enough practice doing things quietly under the eyes of his superior.

"Jill." He said softly, his voice a lover's caress.

(Jill Valentine, can you hear me?)

Eyes brightened. She smiled.

oOo

The water was full of bodies.

Long, scaly, but very still bodies.

Weapons were primed, but nothing big and ugly stirred.

Chris felt woozy, but didn't know why. Flushed. Hot. Sheva continued to stand at the bow of the boat, weapon drawn, tracking the movement of the creature on the shore. Greg didn't stand with her, but scouted ahead of them as the airboat turned slowly, avoiding the massive beasts that could, if they were still alive, destroy them with a single snap.

In the end he took his earpiece out. The static though, for some reason, wouldn't leave his ears.

Motion on the shore, great steps. No black worms. A body, huge and frightening, tentacles and silver eyes. Keeping pace with them. Whiskers of crimson light wavered in the air. Not antennae. Something else. Tentacles.

The static got louder. And a whine, too, come to think of it. Just beyond hearing, maybe. But he could feel it in his teeth. Felt nauseous. Chris narrowed his eyes, wishing for a gun instead of the rudder. He felt sticky with sweat. Itchy.

_I want to puke._

Blood trickled from his ears, mingling with the sweat.

Unnoticed.

Except by the boy. _It's too soon. Too soon._

oOo

Definition didn't come easily in the half-light. With all the grunting and howling going on outside, Josh finished the reload and watched the creature flop about on the concrete. Talons scratched grooves in the concrete, and bones popped as the body finally twisted itself free of the shell, hissing to itself.

What caught Josh's attention the most was the care in which it handled the human skin. The gentle way it slurped it down and ate it.

The eyes still glowed – all of them – half lidded and slit pupils, each a crimson supernova. Veins of bio-luminescent crimson trailed across the creature's flesh, tracked through thick surface veins between…, fur, perhaps, but Josh couldn't recall any BOW with hair of any kind other than human. The air reeked of blood, of spices, something burning maybe. He didn't step back, not even as it approached him, limbs twitching as it fought to stand. It was like an infant giraffe; all legs, ungainly, a long, supple body with a serpent-like tail that split in two from a bony joint halfway to the tip.

"Oh, wow." Mosi stood at his shoulder, his little finger rammed industriously up his nose in thought. "We gonna fight that one too?

_Doesn't look like a parasite. Looks goddamn ugly, but…Made_. "Hell if I know."

"Where'd it come from?"

"Your mother." Josh sighed. Mosi gave him a good-natured punch in the shoulder.

The head was wedge-shaped; broad of forehead to hold those massive eyes. Hyena-like, he thought. Maybe a big cat. The ears perked up as it smacked it's thorny jaws, revealing a split tongue that was as independent in its movement as the whisker-like tentacles sprouting from the muzzle, cheeks and muscled neck between the tufts of fur…feathers…spikes…hard to damn tell. Tans and mottled brown. Dark stripe down the back and fading spots; blotches, a creamy underbelly. The limbs were dark, just as the tail was dark; brown to black, as though dipped in ink. It looked like the mad offspring of the hyena from hell and a mythical Chinese dragon on crack. The six crimson eyes did not help in the slightest.

The doors shook, and finally a great hand pulled off one of the panels, then another. The Ndesu, tired of being ignored, snarled at the assembled BSAA agents and reached forward…and then caught sight of what was behind them. Motion, sleekness, a flash of ivory – the new creature sailed over them and slammed both sets of fore-talons on the outstretched hand, the lower jaw splitting as the mouth opened lunging forward to sink teeth into the Ndesu's shoulder. It screamed, and its screams were echoed by the worms that writhed beneath its flesh. Twisting, coiling like a snake, the new creature pushed it back, claws leaving trails in the dirt and the Ndesu's skin.

Bullets tore the air apart as the remaining Majini converged on the spot, peppering the sleek body with lead. They were ignored as it tore chunks out of the muscle-bound creature beneath it, shrugging off the parasites that desperately tried to burrow into the rippling skin at its' sides. They were frantic. Howling. Hollering.

"What the hell _is_ that?" Awed and hushed. Human faces were tilted up to watch the monsters fight.

"I don't know." Josh answered. "And I don't care."

Be secretly glad that this thing was doing his job? Or ask why the hell it was being so single-minded? A tinkle at his feet. One of the recruits had kicked the metal ring towards him, slippery with blood. Strings of flesh now beaded with dirt were still attached. Seeing it, Josh found himself feeling unsettled – not at the situation, but at the object – it looked...evil.

Buildings sagged and crushed under the brawling behemoths. It rained chickens. And bodyparts of the more fragile maijini.

"Which one do we shoot?" When he didn't answer, someone else joined in:

"Sir!"

"I don't fucking know." Josh managed. And then, because it seemed like the best thing to do, pulled out his weapon again. "All of them!"

"What?"

Josh scowled and started to pick off the gathered majini, only once having to roll to avoid a lashing of the new beast's dual-tail. This wasn't on TriCell's files.

This wasn't even in the BSAA's long list of monsters.

_What are you? _

"To hell with it. Just shoot everything."

oOo

"That's _not_ Oroboros."

"_Thank_ you, Captain Obvious."

"That's _ugly_."

Sheva turned around to face him, frowning. "You're a regular comedian today, Chris…Chris?"

"What?"

"Your nose."

He wiped the little trickle with the back of his hand. "I'm fine."

Greg's gaze never left the creature. If anything, he looked almost sad. He sounded sad when at last he spoke up. "Here."

"What?"

The youth pointed. How had they missed it the first time through? Chain-link fence. Hidden by bushes and dying trees. An access road – but suspiciously quiet. "I knew it was up here somewhere. They never had it on maps; if they did they would have been jumped."

Goddamnit, the thing moved like some kind of exotic dinosaur. It brushed against the fence, snorting at it quietly, watching them with it's brilliant eyes, nudging the metal with its blunt muzzle, growling quietly to itself and then tasting the links. It's jaws split into four, similar to some of the Majini they'd seen, but the notable difference was plain – this creature was simply curious. It didn't do anything else except watch.

Creepy.

Chris shut down the motor, pulled it up against the dirt. Sheva didn't take her eyes of it either, climbing out carefully and taking some of the weapons easily. Greg seemed to pay it no care, ignoring the cries from the others when he ran up to the fence, plunging into the thicket beside it.

Tentacles curled at the links. Any minute now it would just…push the whole fence over. Be on them.

But it just stood there.

Watching.

Chris smacked his lips as he staggered up the slope, memory still jogging. He kept thinking of Rebecca Chambers, one of his old teammates, back when STARs was still relevant, but didn't know why. Now-

A rumble of an engine. The sound was so sudden, it made him jump.

_When had that weird whining stopped?_

(Chris?)

The thicket had hidden a small maintenance shed. The door had been easy to force, and within the shed were three little carts, three-wheelers with dual electric and diesel engines, propped up against their batteries. The batteries themselves ran off a charge from the solar panel array on the roof – neat and surprisingly efficient considering most governments were still umming and ahhing about green technologies.

Loading up one, they piled in, letting Greg drive – he did it with a practiced ease, still preferring his left side over his right, cringing in pain with each movement.

"Was this picked up by the previous team?" Sheva asked. She had to ask.

"Yup. Buuut I don't think they used it. They were, uh, better equipped for what little good it did them." Greg put it into gear easily, and the little vehicle hummed up the road. "Takes us close to port. No more reports from the previous team came after this – I think there'd be a fair amount of parasites up here, perhaps too many. It's the perfect nest for them."

"Will that thing follow us?"

"…Yes." The cart spread up. The motor whined. Greg's face was determined in the half light. Somewhere overhead was a crack of thunder. "But…it's not here for us. It's on clean up. Haven't you noticed yet?"

"Noticed what?" But the moment the words were out of his mouth, Chris understood. And as he sat back, scratching that itching, awful welt on his wrist, he saw the forms motionless by the side of the road. Lots of them. Some wore human form. Others were just…nightmares.

All of them, dead.

The whine started up again.

**JULY 13****TH****, 1998 RACCOON CITY, UMBRELLA'S CORPORATE OFFICE, DOMESTIC LIASON ENTRANCE**

_This is all going wrong. _

The report wasn't going to write itself, and with Irons looking over his shoulder every five minutes, Wesker had needed any excuse to get out of the office. Even if it meant Chris tagging along - he'd had to keep the younger man separated from the other troublemakers in the team, but it was amusing, in a sad kind of way as they all struggled along and tried to better each other in whatever task he set them.

Wesker was starting to wonder if he could lead them to slaughter. He knew better than to grow fond of people – especially test subjects – but the trust that had been built up needed to be genuine. And somehow it was starting to wear him down. All that optimism, that companionship. He was starting to look forward to seeing them in the office. He felt a pang of worry when incidents cropped up and they were needed…and that was becoming more and more common. And, and! Heaven help him – out of state they were starting to ask questions. Hadn't they been called on just last week to find some hikers the next state over?

_I don't need this right now. I really don't. _

He'd made this team _work_. And enjoyed it. And Wesker hated himself for admitting that.

_Admit it. You're enjoying management, and there's no risk of espionage or idiocy. Snap out of it, Albert. This is such…childishness. _

"Thanks for bringing me along today. Can't get my mind off it, y'know?" Wesker bit his tongue in an effort not to reply, so Chris filled the space, full of energy and good humour. Hard to believe he'd had a dishonorable discharge from the service before coming to STARs, but then, high spirits and all. Not enough patience to follow orders, questioned too much. "Wow, they did the place up _good_."

Was it wise to bring him to the steps of Umbrella's corporate offices in the centre of the city? He was here under the pretense of handing in a final statement – not that anyone of value would read it – but Wesker was here to find Birkin and see why he'd been skulking of late. He was being furtive. Birkin couldn't do espionage if it bit him on the arse. He just wasn't capable. And the last thing Wesker needed was all of this blown wide open…

_What?_

Chris was right. Everything really _was_ brand new. Wesker paused for a moment before entering the glass doors, taking a moment to memorize what it looked like – very different from how it had been before the fire. But there were still faint signs – a scorch mark here, exposed wiring there. Repairs mostly made, and with more security by far – the glass alone was bulletproof.

Frustrating. One of his first jobs as an outside agent then had been risk assessment. Only now they were listening to him?

Chris continued to wander ahead of him and around reception, taking in the awards, the hopelessly positive fliers and general messages to staff. Wesker had never felt so uncomfortable in the younger man's presence before – he wasn't supposed to see this. It didn't matter that this was Umbrella's public face, it was still a bare-faced lie in the face of someone who, quite frankly, did not need to know. _You have no idea what I'm going to make you do. _

"Hey Captain-"

Wesker looked up from his PDA, wishing Birkin would hurry up. Why did Chris have to tag along? Honestly? "_Yes_, Chris."

"Remember the fire here? All of those staff have gone."

Fire? Thankful for the sunglasses, Wesker took a moment to shut his eyes. "I remember it." Oh how he wished he could wipe that from his mind.

"But I mean…really gone." Chris was pointing at a photoboard that had been set up. It wasn't the usual practice to do something like that, but face upon face was on the board, beneath the title ' lest we forget' – forget what? Wesker strode to the younger man's side, peering closely at each face, slowly at first and then getting faster and faster.

"…What is this?" A statement more than a question, unnervingly quiet.

Chris watched him, confused at his Captain's reaction before speaking: "They all died." The younger man pointed at several faces in turn. "Except I _know_ I pulled that guy out. And those three, they hit the bottle shop across the road, remember? Oh! And hot chocolate girl."

_Hot chocolate…?_

He stared at the slightly worried face that looked back at him from the tiny frame. The woman who had gone back in to try and rescue some of the others on her own. Almost overcome with smoke. The images flowed across Wesker's mind, dark hair, ash across the skin – or were they freckles? – a shabby ring; engagement probably – that had never come. He took a step back. Then another.

That same face had greeted him when he'd practically fallen out of the car thanks to Birkin's panic attack almost two months ago. Brows furrowed, he lingered on that memory, then on the one that it called forth; dragging her to the ambulance, fitting her with the oxygen mask. It was too late to save the building by then, the firemen were howling at everyone to get back as the offices went up and so much was lost. He'd held her there; more as a support to himself, never had he thought he'd have to take part in something so surreal; how the flames had reached up and swallowed everything, and the way the flesh smelt when it was cooked.

_I _knew_ she was familiar._ Horror blossomed in his mind.

He was a researcher first; not a rescuer. Not like this. And somehow, somewhere inside him, was that ability. He felt partially pleased, pleased to know there were sides to his character that were still to be discovered. Just…dismayed at the incident. The fires. _The people._ He remembered how the violent tremors had only increased beneath his hands as he caught his breath, called out for help. Someone had put a blanket around the woman's shoulders, but it was shock, shock that was the issue. Her eyes were glassy, staring into the flames, her mind somewhere else, but she'd…snapped out of it. Sitting there quietly and concentrating on breathing. Drank the cup when offered. And when Barry had offered to call her family, she'd gently declined.

_I'm okay. I'll just go back home and wait for him. It'll be fine._

But it wasn't fine. As the STARs licked their wounds and exchanged stories, Wesker himself had attempted to make the call where Barry could not. He managed to get past the PA to the fiancé. The conversation was brief; was the little lady okay? She was? He would see her later then. It didn't matter if, hypothetically, she was not alright, because Wesker had just said she was fine. And that was that.

The words were polite enough, but Wesker understood the meaning. Disgusted, he put the phone away and looked down at her again, sitting primly and as small as possible, tucked into the blanket and with a head full of ash.

He wanted to offer her a drive home; but Barry got their first. Possibly a good thing. Now he wished he'd done it, if just to find proof of what had gone wrong.

"It doesn't say how they died."

"It wouldn't." Wesker shook his head.

"That's a pity. They seemed like nice people. Wrong place, wrong time, don't you think?"

_You have no idea. _

Arklay.

It had been quiet of late. His guts twisted painfully. No. They couldn't. They _wouldn't_.

The receptionist peered at them over her hutch; fixing them with a right nasty glare. "You may proceed to the internal reception area."

Well now, there were some questions to ask, no mistake.

**ARKLAY, TIME UNKNOWN**

The darkness was almost impenetrable as she walked down the tunnel, but the air was curiously fresh; almost floral in scent. Evelyn paused at the air change, ears pricked, turning her face this way and that to try and hear, try and see anything in the quiet ahead. One hand on her gun, the other on the wall she was coming to the end of the tunnel, but what lay beyond it she couldn't tell.

Doctor James Marcus, or the being that called itself Marcus was here. But where?

She could smell blood. And distantly, very distantly, whispers. She approached them carefully, trying to make out the words, if they were words. The whispers were strangely soothing, and somewhere inside her head-

(Don't listen. Focus.)

-it told of comfort and togetherness.

Licking her lips, Evelyn pressed herself against the wall and felt for the edge. Something could quite possibly see her. With any luck she'd pick up on it once it started moving, but until then…just the edge of the wall, against her fingers. Cool and smooth and clean. The whispers rose like a soft breeze, but still made no sense and when it came; there was little warning, the blinding pain in her head and then

light,

dazzling

_light_-

-a hall that stretched up, stretched out, an old man tending to plants on a slightly raised walkway. It was a water garden; and it was in full bloom. A woman walked up to him, more of a girl really, her labcoat a dazzling white against the tan of her skin, the dark of her hair. Smiling, the old man rose slowly, twisting off a stem and sliding one of the blossoms behind her ear. Tenderness. Intimacy. The way he stroked her hair, the way her fingers brushed at his withered hands. He spoke but this time Evelyn couldn't hear what he said; but his lips, framing…God's garden. God's garden? What? Great powerlines overhead; massive lamps that made the light seem almost like the sun. The flowers were alive, but something was wrong, something that made the old man weep. He turned away, flickering, and her guardian angel returned, finger to lips.

He was clearer here. A scientist, like the others. His hair was unruly, but his face a scribble apart from those brilliant crimson eyes. First, a finger to his lips, then second, beckoning to follow.

Evelyn felt a rush of pain in her heart. She nodded, walking down the steps in the memory, hand on the railing. A researcher – someone she didn't recognize at all from any of the files – looked up at her and scowled at her passing. So was this real then? Or not? The pain between her eyes felt real enough…

(Hurry.) The man said.

The central pathway through the garden was strangely bumpy despite being clear, and she stumbled over herself more than a few times in her attempt to follow the man and woman – Kendra, she realized, and possibly the original Marcus. They had built this place together. It was not a secret, but the machines that glided on the overhead railings were doing more than they needed to, for reasons unknown to everyone bar a select few.

She ducked out of the way of an oncoming couple – two women, who again made faces as she went past.

"How can they see me?"

Her guardian angel did not answer. He kept ahead of her, his frayed and patched labcoat rustling with each step. Something about the step was familiar. He was not nearly as monstrous up close and in the light as she'd gathered in their infrequent meetings, and he winked out as they came to the central area; surrounded by flowers and with each pathway growing more and more choked as the roots tried to find ground, sped up in growth.

Marcus pitched forward, clutching his heart. Kendra drew back, afraid.

Blossoms exploded into bloom all around them, growing brighter, but Evelyn no longer found them beautiful. Across the hall – from the other door, the door which lead to the results of these experiments, the birthplace of most of the trouble, well…two figures had emerged. Familiar ones, that jogged her memory by far too unpleasantly, except one of them had been dressed as a police officer, the other older and frailer.

"But…he didn't die here."

(This isn't a memory.)

She glanced across from him. Smelling him. Body odour, sweat, dirt. Aftershave that brought back memories she didn't want – her father had worn that. Cheap. Cheerful. She struggled to move as the two men – perhaps fiends was more appropriate, they distorted the closer they came. "What is it then?"

(A dream.)

From each flower-head came a scream.

Reedy. Frightened. Full of longing and loneliness.

Kendra had her hands over her ears; her mouth moving but no sound coming out. Marcus writhed, calling to her, but dissolving into the leeches once more, slipping and sliding into the water. The walkways shook, people ran past Evelyn to find safety, but the roots shot up, the roots claimed all as each flower screamed and screamed and screamed.

Evelyn dropped to her knees, trying to keep her balance as her perception shifted, the ground was polished steel, but it certainly didn't feel like that.

_No_!

She had to focus! "Whose dream?"

Everything was wrong. The room was distorted, the people distorting, those that remained on the walkways began to twist, elongate to look like insects, spreading…

She tumbled, scrabbling against the plants to find purchase and dropping the gun. She couldn't go into the water. The screaming intensified as the scientist and the cop finally reached Marcus, or at least what was left of him, and they'd changed, changed into the stuff of nightmares, chitin and bone, mucus and blood. Chittering and whirring as their faces split and became something else.

Flowers.

_Flower_? The fragment was clear in her mind. A single flower. Not many. Why?

The water was like ice. The shock sent adrenaline through her system, her pounding heart drowning out the cries. Evelyn crawled back up onto the surface, suddenly aware of the open space, knowing that nothing could be seen. Water dripped. The noise continued.

She could give in.

She _wanted_ to. Wanted to stop thinking. Wanted to stop knowing.

Just like everyone else.

(**YES**)

(No)

Fingers like claws, Evelyn reached for her eyes, but something grabbed at her wrists, twisted her around and dumped her into the water. Kicking wildly she fought back, fought with hand and nail, teeth, but it was slippery; strong; and then the only light she could see was the silver of many eyes above her. She sank into the darkness, body trembling, hairs on end. The cold wanted to eat her up; and Evelyn was starting to think it might be worth it. Anything to get the noise out of her head.

"You're fading."

"I know." Gulps of air. Water. Something firm. She kicked off one of the bigger roots, broke through the surface again and clawed her way back onto the platform. She could smell the gun in front of her, reached for it. Listened. Drew strength from the metal and rubber in her hands. The weight.

He moved quietly in the darkness, wet and soft. James Marcus was here. James Marcus _knew_ where she was. She blinked rapidly, trying to see, but nothing blipped into existence. Left. Right. She couldn't find him. The gun grew heavier in her hands.

"You don't need to, you know." His voice was almost pleasant. "You're the first to have made it through the process. You're turning. You'll become just like the rest of them, eating, biting, wanting human flesh. It'll feel warm. Comforting. You'll be amongst family."

Her intake of breath was soft, but not soft enough for him to miss.

"You're thinking about it, I know. I've seen it on your face. Heard it in your voice. You're resisting, but you're fading, Ms. Jackson. You can't fight it forever."

"I am _not_ a monster."

"Are you sure?" A splash close by. She turned quickly, firing off a shot. He laughed. "Close, but not close enough. You're killing very easily now. It's becoming second nature to you. When the lurching, rotting co-workers called for help – and you _knew_ what they were saying –"

"NO!"

"-you still shot them. You still killed them." He giggled. "And you enjoyed it."

She felt sick. The gun's muzzle dropped a little, shaking. Rattling. "I didn't. I needed. They had…had to _help_ them. H-had to _try_."

(Evelyn.)

"You know, it's not a necessary part of Tyrant. Not what you're plugged into. The mental side of things, it never interested me. Eternal life, power, fame, that was what drew my attention, not this…collective consciousness business. But it remains; that little something that connects us all, magnified over and over because…that's what the source _is_ - A hive mind. People couldn't fight it even if they tried, it's inside them, in their heads. That's all people want, you know."

Breath at her cheek, her shoulder. Evelyn straightened up with a squeak.

Hands that were as cold as the grave held her shoulders, and her will to move was stolen away. "To be part of something. To feel like they _belong_. To feel loved and unafraid. Part of the herd." Lips touched her flesh; more to taste, than to be intimate. "I found that with my Queen. I wanted Kendra to share that love, that togetherness. She won't, you know, but I fear…it's more to do with ego than love…she is not one that can share."

He squeezed. Drew blood. The pain helped her break away, tripping on roots and falling into the water, trapped again in the roots.

"There is no shame in wanting this." Tentacles slithered through the coldness, surrounding her, but not yet touching. This was an audience with both the Queen and her consort. "This…_gestalt_. Give in, Ms. Jackson. Let your mind go free. Feed on the weak. Feel the euphoria of an endless death and transformation into something beautiful. Powerful."

"No." She choked. "No."

(Evelyn, focus.)

He laughed. The roots stirred. "I thought you might say that."

Her feet were whipped out from beneath her, Evelyn didn't have time to shriek before she was upside down. Unveiling slowly, as though a veil had been lifted from her eyes, she saw the gleaming silver irises, floating in the dark.

Evelyn wasn't brave. She wept, and gulped, and slime tracked it's way down her face, bubbles bursting from her nose. She tried to shield her face, shaking her head. "No. No. _No_. _**No**_."

"Perhaps you already have."

Things touched her face. Her arms.

"Faster. Stronger. You can sense electrical fields. Not very well, but with practice, perhaps you'd be useful. Visual acuity has increased. Sense of smell. Your hearing is phenomenal." A tentacle moved beneath the collar of her tee-shirt, up her back, making her squirm. "How is touch? What about taste? Things you've yet to try-"

"Stop touching me!" A ragged gasp of breath. "_**Please**_!"

"Oh! She _begs_." Marcus righted her, still holding her but at least letting her feet touch the ground. "You'll beg more in the end. But not from me." Slowly she was unbound, and trembling, Evelyn almost fell to her knees. At the last minute she saved herself. Looked him in the eye. "A monitor knows about you. And you may think that you are friends, yes, but he will sell you. Sell you to Umbrella. Just as _**I**_ was sold. Umbrella will kill you. Kill…us. All of the people down here. Up there. Umbrella uses what it can, and when it can't find a use for you anymore, it…turns you into something else. A monster."

"…I am not a monster. _Not like you_."

(He's bleeding. He's hurt.)

The touch was tender, wiping away her tears. "Oh but you _are_. And there is nothing to be ashamed of. Evelyn." A pause, he sniffed her thoughtfully before whispering in her ear again. "I have a proposition for you."

Her lower lip trembled. She tried to shake her head.

"No? Oh, but at least _listen_ first. You want them to come out alive do you?" At the tips of his tentacles was light - bio-luminescence, coloured crimson, lighting up a very human, almost friendly face. Around them the flowers rustled, full of whispers. Secrets. His head dipped close, breath warm and fresh in her ear once more. "I am in need of your help, Ms Jackson. Just as you need mine. I am, after all, your only friend down here." A kiss at her cheek. The corner of her mouth. She fought down the urge to vomit. "One queen in the hive, as it were. _You_ are no trouble, my little drone. But my daughters…ah. A _waste_."

She thought of the team, lost and alone down in this hell. She thought of the creatures that lay beyond the final gate, beyond this garden. "Can you get us out?" She wiped her face with her sleeve, teeth chattering. "No. Wait. I need conditions. I want them out alive, I want them _safe_."

"I could, yes. For a price." The darkness slowly enfolded them both again, and his voice became distant. "For your loyalty."

She panted, breath in whistles. Shaking. Then slowly, the breathing came under control. The trembles ceased as she straightened herself up, tried to relax.

Over Marcus' shoulder, the man with six eyes watched her, standing easily and calmly, hands in his pockets. She could not meet that inhuman gaze, but with each breath, with each swallow, she pulled back the panic, she pulled back her control.

Evelyn opened her eyes, unaware that the copper irises were bleeding to glowing crimson as her body sought to answer Marcus' with her own threat display. Embers in ash.

"…What do you need me to do?"

oOo

"What do you mean he won't see me?"

"Albert, get out."

He couldn't stop the twitch of agitation. "Annette-"

She pulled close, eyes bright. Cheeks flushed. She was excited, and that frightened him. "Albert. Go home. This…this isn't your world anymore."

"You know damn well-"

She held up her hands, uncaring. "Sherry's back soon. I'd rather she didn't pitch a fit about you being here. I like you better as Uncle Al, not as the researcher you once were. If Will's got anything, _he will call you_. At the moment he's tied up. Go home."

And with that she left, hips swinging and hair bouncing. He'd never had quite a dismissal like that before. That stupid, irritating _dog_ of a woman. "Is this about Arklay?"

Her step faltered just a little.

"What happened in Arklay, Annette?"

She kept walking. Just a little faster.

"What did you do to those people?" A wild stab in the dark, true. But this time…She raised her hand over her shoulder, giving him the finger. Well _shit_.

Disgusted, Wesker stormed out. He'd hoped if she was coming down in person there'd be more than just…just that. Chris got to his feet when he came out of the pressure doors, concerned. Kind, where he shouldn't be. "Captain? You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"It's just…"

Shit. When had anyone actually asked him that? And meant it? Wesker stopped, took off his sunglasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Tried to recollect his thoughts, as Chris scratched at his neck in embarrassment, wanting to help. Their eyes met, a rare moment when Wesker felt safe enough to appear naked in front of anyone, without that dark glass to protect him. "I'm fine. Really…I'm fine."

Wesker was finding it harder and harder to lie.

oOo

The light wouldn't hurt him, but he needed to move fast. He'd miscalculated. His offspring were more murderous than he'd realized, unable to stop their nature as predators. Keep his human form – the much weaker side of his character, he watched the woman limp into the lab, into the actual nest. She'd do it. Because she was honest. Because she cared.

Did Marcus feel sorry?

No.

Kendra had the exit codes. That had been the deal. Therefore, find Kendra, find the codes. He could not feel angry that she'd been stolen away at this point, not with such a beast being set on her trail.

_My silly little girl. _

Best to test the lamps. They had to work.

Trembling with exhaustion, Marcus threw the switch, and watched God's Garden spring to life. _Spencer, if you could see this now._

Marcus hummed under his breath, a hum that became a quiet song, and the sickly flowers nearest to him trembled in response.

oOo

Darkness had first greeted the assembled men, trekking deep into hell. And then the lights came on, and it was embarrassed shuffling and muttering at each other.

All, that is, except Sarton. He fell to his knees on the exit ramp, almost in prayer. "_Sonnentrepp_."

Eric blinked. "What'd he just say?"

"It's the original sample. The first strands of research." Maram breathed. "I never imagined we had so much of it here. They had such difficulty growing it."

It had to be a couple of football fields; white walls and clean water, the flowers sprawled everywhere, strangled white without the sun's warmth. Overhead great racks ran; with machines and mechanical arms mounted on them, bristling with needles. It was unreal. Even more unreal was the stirring of the plants, brought on by the warmth from the lamps – they began to change colour before Maram's eyes, drinking up as much light as they could.

Vincent was not quite so awed, and kept walking forward, off the little platform and down the steps into what he had thought was a stable surface. It wasn't; there was water. No earth. The roots crisscrossed the area and made it difficult to stand, but it was hard to see where it began and where it ended. Softly: "There's no breeze, gentlemen."

"So?" Eric grumbled, shrugging. "We're underground, duh, boss."

"So why is everything moving?" It was so quiet. Barely a rustle, but the ripples were there, signs of life where there shouldn't be any. Vincent's dark eyes narrowed as he pointed ahead of them, to the partially open door, on the other side of the field. "I think…I think we need to move out, gentlemen."

"But the flowers!"

"Fuck the flowers." Vincent turned swiftly on Sarton, who was clutching onto the wall and afraid to go any further. "Stay here and cover us, understand?"

"You can't tell me what to do!"

"The hell I can!"

He trembled like a child. "Just because you're one of Sergei's dogs doesn't mean I have to obey you!"

Vincent raised his fist, but didn't strike him, too aware of the gasp of the other researcher. He could feel Maram's gaze at his back. "You want to live don't you?"

"They'll come." Sarton sobbed. "They'll come for us."

"If they've left _me_ down here, then they're not going to help anyone." He laid a hand on the sobbing man's shoulder. There was no shame here. No shame at all. "I'm sorry, Doctor Sarton."

Eric carefully made his way forward, bored with the confrontation. The blooms were tall, but only brushed his knees, where the water got deep they could reach his waist. He focused on the floor – and on the door ahead. The movement was wrong, Vincent was right. And the floor wasn't altogether there, either. "Place is a maze underfoot. Everyone be careful – there's bits where it's a lot deeper. Watch the water."

"I-Is there anything in there?"

"Don't know." Eric pumped his shotgun once. "Going to find out."

Knees knocking, Maram took a few steps forward, then splashed ahead to where Eric was. A moment later, Vincent joined them.

To his credit, Sarton did as he was told, holding his gun up and staying up against the wall. His voice floated up in the quiet to the other three. "Hey. Hey. Take care, you guys."

Vincent grudgingly raised his hand in reply.

oOo

There were _not_ hundreds of them.

Bullets broke through flesh and bone. Screams cut through the song. The same song Evelyn hummed under her breath, eyes blazing.

_Reload._

There were not, because there _could not_ be hundreds. _Ignore what the mind is telling you, the mind lies. Ignore the fear_. _Reload._

It was not dark; still some light off the consoles, off the great shining tubes were things grew. Some looked vaguely human. Some looked like something else. But through the dark were the lines; the echoes of creatures, electricity humming between cells and neurons, processing their thoughts. She saw it all, or perhaps imagined it, it didn't matter. Practice on the devils above had made her quick. Hunger made her sharp. Desperate.

_Reload. _

Bodies thrashed, coloured crimson and vibrant pink. Bullets left ripples of violet and shimmering blue in their wake. A moment too slow; pain flaring as something slammed against her, pushing her off her feet. Into a wall. She crunched. Cried.

She slid down it, leaving fresh stains. There couldn't be much more left to her now; but the serum punched on endlessly, keeping her wired. Nothing major was cut, just the noise, the awful noise. The song she had to sing, weaving amongst it all. Blood from her ears. Nose. Eyes.

The song was different to theirs. Disjointed. Confusing them. Buying her time.

Out of bullets; she tossed the gun aside, reached for the next one.

_Reload._

The queens were fighting her. Fighting each other.

Only one queen to a hive.

_Reload._

oOo

Their first attempts to jog through the field had been met with danger – mostly when Eric suddenly dropped out of sight and almost drowned. After that they felt their way across the proverbial minefield.

It was mostly done in silence. _Mostly_. Maram was a noisy runner and yelped now and then when he got caught in the roots. The other two men would come back and help him along – they weren't about to turn their nose up at free help, but it would have been nice if the free help had a bit more of a sense of balance.

Sarton was now almost out of earshot, the room was that big. It was larger than the facility. Had to be. But occasionally a thin, reedy _Oh God Oh God Oh God_ would drift to them.

All three were soaked to the skin. None of them admitted that the water; while still, was somehow clean. Fresh. Stirred by something underneath. Maybe something alive, none of them knew or cared. They were soaked, and cold.

The door loomed up, ever closer, at least two stories high. They were on runners, partially opened. No sign of force.

Eric was starting to get bored of this crazy-ass trek. "So who's this Sergei guy Doctor Plant-Man was talkin' about?"

Vincent, who had been leading up until now, pulled up, and Eric almost ran into him. "You work in reprographics, Eric. I don't expect you to know further than what you work on – the publications Umbrella puts together, the newssheets, the general stationary; you're…no offence, you're a bottom feeder. There is a lot you don't know."

At first the redhead didn't respond. But then he wrinkled his nose. "You _work_ for this Sergei guy? Is this when you're not in the office ordering people about?"

"Eric Anaru you have the self-preservation of a chocolate kettle." Vincent said tiredly, taking another leap and clearing the next gulf. "Just shut up. Just shut up. Now."

"Fuck you." Eric hoisted the gun over his shoulder, helping Maram into the arms of Vincent. The researcher trembled like a leaf and was finding the jumps difficult as it was without the agitation. "I heard that name before. Usually to do with bad stuff."

Vincent didn't answer. He jogged the last part of the path – raised just enough and clear enough to make for the steps. He stopped, turned something over with his foot. "Aww, _shit_."

"What, old man?"

"Something of Evie's." He crouched down, feeling the fabric through his fingers. Part of her shirt.

Eric jogged up beside him, almost tripping over a particularly large section of roots. His head buzzed unpleasantly. "You think she went under?"

"Nope."

"You sound sure."

Maram finally reached them. "The serum wouldn't have allowed it. Increased adrenaline production and testosterone? She would have fought _hard_."

Slithering, somewhere ahead of them. Maram wondered if he could hear someone singing.

"She fought. I think they came for her."

Now was _entirely_ the wrong time for the lights to go out. And for the gunfire to become audible, with the hum of the lights gone.

It was only a hop and a skip to the next platform. But that didn't make it any easier, because it with the darkness came the fear.

"_Move_, gentlemen." Vincent whispered.

oOo

_Keep your part of the bargain._

Motion behind her, voices.

The old queen, the wily Queen, the _first_, plunged past her, carrying a precious cargo. Red hair and re-growth; Susan. Slender and dark; Kendra.

_Keep going._

The gun clicked silent, Evelyn plunged forward as a set of segmented teeth came down, seeking to eat her up. It found that metal was a poor substitute; eyeballs popping under the pressure of a fist. The little leeches kept trying to suck at her flesh; burying their mouths into her skin, drinking her dry. She didn't have much left in the first place; but their voices were hypnotic.

_Don't think._

Lines blurred again.

oOo

_What have we done?_

Vincent stared at the mess of the lab. Saw the blurring of motion, of ash. Evelyn in a heartbeat, firing, eyes wide, teeth bared, streaked with mess. Nothing of the woman who had worked for him not so long ago.

_What have I done?_

Was this what Spencer had planned all along? Clanking. Cursing. He turned, shocked and shamed, as Eric unhitched a chemical tank from one of the Tyrant holding tanks.

It had 'flammable' written on the side.

Eric Anaru gave him a thumbs up.

"No, **_wait_-"**

oOo

She moved. Compressed. Stretched out. The world expanding in her senses.

The next hit bent the metal of the shaft. The shotgun was discarded as she dove, rolled. Inexpertly; she wasn't a fighter. Vincent had only had time to teach her the basics; but the basics could be built on with each new experience.

Bones cracked as the next swipe from one of the larger ones hit her square across the back. Her ribs. Floating, despite the tendons. Bruises flared like ink across her flesh then grew dark; grew light, purples and yellows as she healed back to pink.

_You promised._

(_You promised me_.)

Hands grabbing at her; pulling her back; Evelyn struggled. Screamed.

(_You promised __**me**__, not __**him**__.)_

Vincent, her nose told her, and they ran back the way they'd come. Spilling of fluids; chemicals. Shrieking of the remaining queens, their young, squabbling with each other.

Her head span. The music was inside her now, a chorus of rising feral joy, craving sacrifice. She wanted to swoon in her manager's arms, but Vincent couldn't hold her, not entirely, and their fear – Maram's mostly, was pungent and made her wake up. She was turning. She was starving. Just a bite. A little bite.

Her lips curled back in the confusing darkness, wanting to sink her incisors into the dark skin that she was held against. Rip him to shreds. Yes-

(_No, Evelyn. You're better than this_.)

She wasn't.

She was trash.

The song told her so. Best be trash with everyone else. Hide. Be one with the rest of them. Never have to think again. Never make the wrong decisions. Never be a bad girl. A bad woman.

(_You're too old to think this way_.)

"Fuck you." She said aloud.

"Signs of life!" Came the jovial reply to her left.

She shook her head, trying to hear him over the voices and the music. But it was so hard. Shouldn't she hurt them? Wasn't that why she was here?

But then they were falling, falling into the cold water, and the roots, and the singing, screaming flowers, dragging themselves along as the slithering monsters found the door, and a mote of her thought-

Where the hell has Marcus gone, that lying bastard?

Splashing as they entered the water.

The ground gave way, and Vincent flung her away from him, they were all struggling, rippling light in the dark but nothing for her to hold onto because Evelyn was no longer there, she was – was-

The lights came on. Manufactured sunlight spilled down, and the queens screamed in pain.

Running. Chemical smells. Falling.

She couldn't remember.

She couldn't think.

Just noise. Filling her skull to bursting.

And then freeze frames; making it to the final platform, Sarton gibbering like an idiot as they scrambled to safety and Maram reaching for something, something small and metal in his hands, and the lighter falling, lighting, hitting what was now in the water-

The world was set on fire, and Evelyn went up with it.

The song was sung.

**PRESENT DAY**

In the end the shooting had turned into running. Then it had turned into a shrieking free-for-all.

The remains of the BSAA had taken cover behind a couple of overturned cars, and had been very surprised when a majini had attempted to join them. It did not stay long, mostly because the bullets had sent it reeling back into the path of the creature and then it was a very quick end indeed.

"You think it's TriCell's?"

Josh shook his head, fingering his radio. The static in the air was making it difficult to get a good signal – there was no way he could radio Sheva or Chris. _I hope they're alright_.

"Josh?"

"Don't know. Heard stories of people turning into monsters years back – but that was with viruses, not parasites."

"Damn near pissed myself."

"_Actually_-"

Josh tuned out of the chatter, watching the creature move purposefully around now that most of it's prey was either dying or dead. The Ndesu had been ripped to pieces. He'd almost felt sorry for it. What he'd mistaken for wrinkled skin in the beginning was starting to dry off and look a lot like wings.

_If this fucker can fly, we are finished. _

It was waiting for something.

The minutes ticked by. It swished its tails back and forth, rooting around it's blunt muzzle in the sheds, the cars, climbing up over things and sometimes fitting its mouth around pipes, pulling things apart. Almost human, he thought.

Someone broke cover. Barely human. Other majini followed it, and the creature whipped around as fast as a snake, ignoring the bodies and heading straight for the malformed one. _Controller_!

Behind him, someone whistled in amazement.

Holding it down, the creature regarded it before those gleaming crimson tentacles came down and touched the controller's mind. It writhed, squealed and screamed nonsense.

"Sir?"

"Shut up a second."

"Sir!"

Josh was slowly standing, watching the exchange. What was it doing? Why was it- The head raised, chest swelling and majini fleeing again, abandoning their leader-

"SIR!"

-Static electricity arced from the muzzle of his gun to the car. The words broke through his thoughts and he shut the radio off, scrambling for the batteries as the beast opened its mouth and-

Short.

Sharp.

_**Splatter**_**.**

Majini parasites _exploded_, taking their hosts with them. The sound had not been pleasant, just off the range of human hearing, but the beast didn't seem happy with doing it, almost at once the head was back down and it was coughing, gagging, chunks of flesh and phlegm hitting the ground.

The metal ring. He'd bagged it. It was in his pocket. Hadn't the person gone for their throat, pulled it out? Josh's mouth went dry.

Its haunches dropped and the beast panted, loud and strange in the oppressive heat. The eyes were half-lidded. Muscles twitching. But it was still aware, and Josh realized it could see him; the beast turning its head a fraction so all its eyes could take him in. The pupils contracted then dilated, looking him over. Josh raised the gun in curiosity and watched the pupils return to slits, saw the curling of its mouth to expose those jagged teeth.

He put the gun down. Raised his hands.

The pupils widened to become almost circular. Close to human. The eyes then closed.

"Do we shoot it now?"

"It just did our job for us. I kind of want to go over there and thank it." Josh growled.

It didn't stand, but the ears twitched forward. It swung it's head up, peering at the sky. Rumbling in the distance became louder; helicopters. Back up?

Mosi was already up with his binoculars. "They're not ours."

"Damn."

"Not help, either. They have guns. They're, uh, going to bypass us."

"_Argh_." Swishing in the dirt. Josh turned his head a fraction and watched as the creature did indeed spread wings, something between a bat's and a bird's, skin, scale and bursts of feather. Unfinished. One major pair with a secondary set folded underneath, similar to the Majini beasts he'd seen flying around the facility when they'd first tried to bring down TriCell. The beast rumbled deeply in its throat, tracking the dark shapes. "Our friend doesn't like them either."

"Should we take that as a sign?"

"To check on the survivors? I'm all up for that." Josh flicked the radio back on, felt relief when it crackled with life. Watching the beast flap its wings a few time to get its bearings, he finally found the band he was looking for. Sheva's sigh was music to his ears.

"Josh?"

"Sheva. You've got company in the shape of three 'copters – can't tell who t hey are or what they're doing, but they're heading for you. And tell Chris one of his viral mutants is about to pay a visit."

"Say _what_?"

It coiled its tail up, used it to spring into the air. He almost thought it wasn't going to make it, but the frantic beating of its wings managed to get it high enough, a sleek arrow against the clouds.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, woman."

oOo

The whine was persistent.

He'd tried to block it out, but the wind carried it over the complex, and it would attract the most awful of monsters. Who was it _now_? Surely nobody else would come out here; not with the storm so close. The storm would finish off everything, wipe the slate clean. The facility would not survive. With any luck, he wouldn't survive either.

He moved, and black dust made little hills on the bare concrete floor. Still plugged into the central generator, the computer and smaller lab equipment were all on standby; tiny little lights in his hovel. They were friendly lights, and he dwelled on them for a bit before deciding to get up. The bed wasn't comfortable. Everything needed to be swept again.

Waiting to die was exceptionally infuriating.

A stagger to the door down the other end of the long room that made up his living quarters and lab. A quick peek, but nothing lurking outside – there was nothing quite like the shock of something big and squirmy trying to get through your door. Most of them left him alone for obvious reasons – he just didn't want the shock.

Cowardice too. Being chewed to pieces wasn't an attractive way to go. It was messy, and who knew what would happen if his genetic material got out? _Again_?

The motions were slow. Painful, but not as painful as it had been in previous weeks. This meant he was getting better. The serum was _winning_.

_Bollocks_.

Leaning on the doorframe, he reached onto the little table he'd scrounged up from one of Excella's more vigorous culling of stuff-that-did-not-go-with-the-décor, pulled up a pair of binoculars that he'd picked off one of the bodies from one of his supply runs.

He could hope for death, but at least _try_ and make it comfortable.

Checking the river, he saw nothing. A flash of crimson here and there – clean up crew. Joy. Hope it's nobody I know – but nothing-

-Nothing except a maintenance buggy.

He frowned. Tracked it. Upped the resolution. Difficult to see the faces; but when he did, it took a lot of effort not to snap the device in two. Instead, he ground his teeth, eyes narrowed to gleaming, crimson slits. Not now. Oh, this wasn't _fair_.

"…_Chris_." Wesker hissed.

~ **To be continued.**

_Sorry this took so long, and thank you for sticking with me. _


	9. Ascension, once

_Usual violence warning :x _

**PANDORA'S SONG**

**CHAPTER NINE:** Ascension, once.

**PRESENT DAY**

The maintenance buggy rattled to a stop.

The access road bypassed the ruins completely, but then it made sense to if you were carting in heavier equipment. Things scuttled in the undergrowth as Greg put the machine into 'park' and leaned on the steering wheel, breathing heavily.

"You still with us?" He gave Chris the finger. "'Atta boy."

Sheva was already out, glancing over the walls. "What do you want to bet that nobody else came this way? They probably walked right into a trap…" She shuddered. "Never saw it coming. You know, I warned them. I went out with them. I never got very far. It's like…Like…"

"Like all the monsters decided they didn't want anyone else coming in, right?"

She chewed her lip. Nodded. At the time, Josh's team had done so as well. And then they'd gotten deeper into the fortress. And deeper still. Checking everything at least twice, searching for what they could. Among them were some of the best trained technicians, but very few things could be lifted off the hard drives, or understood. It was as if someone had gotten there first and not only deleted everything, but wiped the hard drives clean. Poachers, black market traders, possibly even a couple of other pharmaceutical companies had already gotten in, took what they wanted, or had met their end at the creatures that now called the lab home.

That was, of course, if it hadn't been done by Wesker or Excella in the first place. Both of them were spiteful enough to do so.

"We're in the maintenance and generator area." Greg said, finally catching his breath. "Geo-thermal, I'm guessing, but it's seriously old…from the last time Umbrella was here, I think."

Chris whistled in disbelief, but didn't wait for Greg to pull himself out of the machine. Joining Sheva, both looked over the corrugated iron walls and roofs that made up TriCell's facility from the outside.

"This…this is going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack." He groaned at last. Catching Sheva's eye – and her faint smile – he squared his shoulders, and rechecked his arsenal. "We ring the doorbell or just let ourselves in? It's not like anyone's there-"

There was a crash up above. The kind of unpleasant crash that was accompanied by the streaming of darkness of things coming out from the vents above, squealing, unnatural things. Bellowing things deep within.

The three of them ran to the closest wall and flattened themselves against it. Overhead, a cloud of Kipepeo wheeled and turned, shrieking in the red light. Joining them were the wet calls of a couple of Popokarimu squirming out after them.

"They look like they're in a hurry."

"No shit." Chris wrenched the closest door open, remembering only at the last minute that it could contain Lickers. "Which means we need to move it."

Only Greg paused at that doorframe, watching the flock disperse.

He trembled.

Swallowed hard. The hairs on the back of his neck, stiff.

The Queen was silent. It would wait, and wait patiently until the storm passed – that was what the Queen did. It wanted nothing to do with the plucky BSAA agents. But with what was coming, the Queen would react. It would call its sister Queens.

_You're moving too soon. That's not like you. Tariq you bastard, _**call me**_._ He chewed his lip. _I can't be blind for much longer. _

oOo

He kept his voice low, relying on the shift of the machine to rock himself close to her, hoping those trained would mistake his nerves for those of flying and not of being discovered. Her pupils dilated quickly, then contracted again as she sought to focus.

"Take it slow, Jill."

"…Where am I?"

"Safe for the moment. Don't look around. Don't pretend you're awake. As far as any of them are concerned you're doped to the eyeballs."

Disbelief registered in her pale eyes. "I feel _better_."

"I'm glad." Maram gave her a fragile smile. "Just please don't ask me what I did to do so."

"Not what I think it is, is it?" His silence gave her his answer. Jill frowned, but shifted her weight, ear cocked to the sound of the people around her. "I'll beat you later, you scumbag."

"_Jill_."

"Where are we going?"

"Back to the facility." Maram glanced around the soldiers as they waited grimly for their landing. "It's not gone to plan. I'd hoped to smuggle you back to the States and one of the safe-labs to wake you up – the serum I used is unreliable when mixed on a motel counter."

Jill wrinkled her nose to stop the giggle. "Bit lax with the old H&S aren't you?"

"Please don't start. I need to know if you can hear a buzzing above the motor."

She shook her head, no.

"Right. That's bad. Because I can." Maram gulped. Made eye-contact. "Tell me my eyes are still green."

"Hazel."

He grunted. "Seriously?"

Jill didn't answer at first – waiting for the nearest soldier to lose interest. They were glassy eyed, curiously alert but not. Waiting, almost. Clockwork soldiers, Jill thought. Studying Maram again, she bit her lip. "Maybe a little more green in your left eye. Taking too much of your own brand of dope, huh?"

"Hey, we're all infected in some way or other. A slower conversion is easier on the body, I'd just prefer more planning before crossing over completely."

"Don't." Jill muttered. "I'd have to kill you."

"I don't doubt that." Maram gripped her hand gently. "How's your shooting?"

"If your stuff worked well enough, I should be fine. Why?"

"We are going to ruin Kendra's day."

"Goody."

oOo

Something was wrong.

Something was really _wrong_.

Hurrying past the first of the generators, Chris felt the first dregs of fear deep inside of himself. He'd been scared before – how could he not be? But something else was now…tugging at him. Whispering at him. The walls were full of voices, and Chris stumbled one too many times, needing to catch the wall to find his balance.

The world swirled around him.

Things crawled down the wall. Vein-like roots, or root-like veins, he wasn't sure. Warmth. He could taste blood in his mouth. And singing. Sweet, sweet, singing. Calling him home. Chris closed his eyes, drifting amongst it.

So comfortable.

So calm.

Yeah.

Nice, here.

No more worrying. No more guilt. No more trauma. He was at peace here. Good. Better.

[Chris]

He could stay here forever. Stay with this feeling of togetherness, this acceptance. Phantom arms reached for him, and he took a step.

[Chris!]

Took another.

[Chris, damn it!]

And-

Pain bloomed in his arm, the adrenaline snapping him to attention. Greg looked up at him, pinching his arm again. "Stay with us!"

"What's wrong?"

"He can hear it. Same as me."

"Hear what?"

"Pandora." Greg said softly. "Pandora's Song."

A second later a bullet clipped his ear.

**JULY 14****TH****, 1998, ARKLAY**

The water was cool, alive. Fresh despite her sickness.

Her mind was rubbed raw. Gone were the threads of the community; she fluttered freely in a vortex, unable to find grounding. Unable to find the shore, but the droplets brought her back slowly, piece by agonizing piece. He was gone, and without him, she was nothing.

"Evie."

_He had gone. _

She hadn't realized the connection, she hadn't realized the importance of him _being there_, but she felt the loss of the stranger as keenly as she would feel the loss of family. Blindly she searched for his presence in her mind; but nothing was there. Not even the songs of her former colleagues. All that remained was a disjointed humming; a chorus without a leader.

Madness.

Hunger was sharp, buttercup yellow in her mind, but the droplets were so cool, so soft against her lips.

"Evie."

Hands at her face, at her hair. She dreamed of her father before he had died; his hands cracked and dry from chemicals, stained with oil. But those same hands that had coaxed machines to life also held a little girl as gently as though she was made of spun glass.

These were not her father's hands.

"Evie."

Fractured shards came together gently, nosed on by the need to survive. Why should she die? It would be too easy to slip into the darkness, but that wasn't fair. She'd tried so hard. She felt so angry. It couldn't end here. It hadn't ended at her grandmother's cane. It hadn't ended at the slaps from first love. It hadn't ended in the fire.

When she could open her eyes in the haze, the light was golden, but it didn't smell like the kitchen. Her uncle's kitchen perhaps, where there were always muddy sneakers and sloppy, home-made cake, rough justice in a house full of boys, but justice that hurt the judge just as much as the guilty. Justice that made you grow.

No. It can't end here.

"Evie, _please_."

Water.

"_Evie_."

Fire.

The hand shook as it touched her again. She stirred, trying to open her eyes and watched the trembles across the inside of her eyelids. Fear, mistrust. Pleading. Hope. Shadows, maleness, cradling her, rocking her back and forth. Water on her cracked lips, leaves in her mind unfurling in the rain, connections fragile inside her mind. Marcus, blooming like a weed inside her head, equally stunned. Equally lost.

He held her.

She held him.

_Time to get up. _

"…Maram?" She asked, and he cried.

oOo

The fire had consumed everything on level 6.

Red Queen had sealed the fire doors, but the facility was old, and it would not be long before the fire tried to leap – there was plenty of fuel left by the dying creatures who had barrelled into the dark. With the fire came a startling side-effect, those that had been sick and had been grasping at sanity suddenly lost it, becoming ravenous clawing beasts. There had been some co-operation, now it was mindless stalking and moaning in the hallways. The creatures of Arklay were also acting on their own, attacking everything, even each other, in a bid to survive.

They had to move quickly and quietly so as not to cause panic.

Vincent double-checked his inventory again, in the little office, sweat dripping down his back. His ears were strained, listening for anything as he worked, laying out the weapons and mentally assigning them to who would be best.

They needed to get the survivors – clean survivors – to the service lift. From there, they would get them up and out and into the mansion. He had no idea what would have happened from there, or how many things had escaped to the surface, but provided they kept their heads, they would be okay.

The tap at the door almost made him jump out of his skin. He was surprised to see Len there, not quite looking at ease, but not quite suspicious either. Vincent didn't need to ask.

"I put the word out as best I could. Would you believe most of the brains have asked to stay?" Vincent could believe this, but he didn't tell his companion that. Len paced the office, rubbing his hands at the back of his neck, and through his thick black hair. His beard was unkempt, bristling ridiculously as he continued. "There's now a definite barrier between us and the infected. We've dispatched the last of them that were inside the barrier…they turned quickly."

He nodded. Management crossed his mind. They'd hidden it so well, but in the end they'd all migrated to one of the top corporate suites they had installed. Where they'd found…Vincent swallowed, feeling the lump return.

Len watched him. "The kid is okay. He's in shock, I think, but they're treating him. He's warm, and taken a little water. Right now just some TLC, much like the rest of us."

"Thanks, Len."

"Whatever you did down there brought us some time. Half the creatures don't know their asses from their elbows. Kendra's coming 'round, woozy as anything from whatever they pumped her full of. Got some kind of rash. Susan's…" He trailed off.

"She's okay. I checked up on her."

Len gave him a little grin that Vincent chose to ignore. "So _that_…leaves what Eric and Hilary have done. There were some takers, and they've escorted them up. A couple of researchers, who are currently downstairs and demanding they talk to whoever's in charge. Now we're waiting."

Vincent beat a gentle tattoo on the desk in front of him, thinking. "How many people have got bites?"

"…I'm not allowed to check." Len stopped his pacing, going to the window. He could just see over the wire hand rails to the floor below where the last of Arklay's staff sat, or walked, or argued over the last packet of crisps. "There's talk of infringing human rights." His gaze became sly. "Your girl up and running yet?"

Vincent frowned. "Doctor El-Amin's seen signs of life. I don't want to put her down there to sniff them out. They're already antsy that we have El-Leecho amongst us."

"Was he _really_ that guy?"

"Yes."

"Shit." Len cocked his head to the side. The subject of the conversation was seated quietly beside the sleeping Doctor Bhattacharya on the floor below. "Where do you think he puts all the leech-bits of himself when he's not using them?"

Vincent didn't answer. Still leaning against the wall and watching the people mill about beneath them, he let out a long sigh. "Just keep an eye on him."

"You can't be serious."

"We'll need him to get out of this. Trust me." A little half smile. "Perfect bargaining material..."

oOo

The cameras were still working.

The live feeds were a little more boring now that most of the rivalries had died, but money had been exchanged, bets had been lost or won. Good times.

But it was time to reclaim Arklay, now. The experiment had outlived its usefulness and it was time to clean away the toys.

Men and women clad in identical black suits were being armed and primed. Destroy with extreme prejudice.

One man went ahead.

Wesker's curiosity knew no bounds.

oOo

Eric caught her eye, hands full of grenades. "How many?"

"Enough." Evelyn reloaded the next weapon, slinging it on the makeshift belt. Her motions were sloppy, slow. Exhausted. "They're going to come in and exterminate anything moving."

"B-But we'll get out, right?" Came the shrill cry from Alex, balled up on the floor. Blood still moved sluggishly down her limbs. "They can't kill us, we're, we work for them, this is so dumb."

Evelyn didn't answer, but looked to Vincent. His brows dropped a little, frustrated. "At the moment, we're by-products. They don't need us anymore. They have what they want."

"W-_what_?"

Marcus snorted with laughter.

More clicking. Metal flashed in the gloom as the lift continued to winch down, and Vincent sighed. "The Umbrella Corporation hires specific people to handpick new teams to move onto the next level – be it research, management or marketing, it doesn't matter. The company plans things fairly far ahead. I am one of those monitors. I was supposed to prepare a test run for a set of new biological weapons that would in turn be tested on people who could cause issues in the future – military types, forward thinkers, family men and women, the medical field. A varied test group, headed by one of our own." Vincent did not shy away from the shocked looks of the survivors. "I trained him to go in my place. He in turn fed me the information I needed to provide the best possible results. Unfortunately the public section of the building was attacked, and everyone was moved to Arklay."

"Y-_You_ brought this on us?" Sarton howled.

Eric let out a hysterical laugh. "No, you prat. It means it was going to happen anyway. Even if Leech-man there hadn't decided to set the T-Virus on us, right?"

Marcus smirked, but it lacked the venom from previous encounters. "You did provide _such_ entertainment."

"I did not do this lightly." Vincent shot a glance at Susan, still wrapped in a scrap of fire blanket; the only warmth to protect against shock. "If I'd had my way I would have shipped you all out. But it would seem that even my long hours in service don't mean shit to management."

"Welcome to my world."

"Shut up, James." He shivered. "Evie?"

She wanted to vomit but spoke instead, hesitant. "Too much metal for me to pick up anything concrete; too many smells to tell you what's coming. But I know what you're asking." Sniffle. "I don't like it."

"I know you don't."

"It hurts, Vincent." Staff to manager. One last request.

"What the hell is she talking about?" Alex moaned. Hilary tried to shush her, but it had no effect. "What's wrong with her?"

There was no point in lying. Vincent shrugged. This was business and he strode up to the shorter woman, looking down at her with a gaze that was…blank. There was nothing recognizable in that face any more. "Evie's going to be our damage magnet. When we get to the surface, let her provide cover fire. We head for the right corridor; go to the fire-exit. Treat this like a drill; go to the assembly point by the storage sheds. They're filled with chemicals for the printing unit; the USS won't fire on them for fear of exploding anything and drawing attention."

He brushed past her. Her shoulders dropped a little, but the sob didn't escape her throat. She just shut her eyes, shut down another part of herself to stay in control.

"Wait." Eric piped up, as the lift pinged, opening the doors. People piled inside, leaving those with weapons to squeeze in after them. "That's _it_? Who helps her afterwards?"

_Shut up shut up shut up._

"Hey, mate, I'm talking to you-"

She shook her head. "Nobody, Eric."

"What? After all of this-"

She fixed him with a fierce glare, unaware that her eyes glowed, the iris flaring brightly as though set alight. "Eric, I have an unknown virus living inside me. I don't know what's going to happen if it gets out of hand. Doctor Marcus can probably explain it better than I can and…he's in the same boat. So what if I make it out? See these eyes? How long do you think I'll go without being noticed? How long before I'm a number in a cell? Pieces of me floating in fucking…fucking _formaldehyde_. Let me help you get out. Let me…let me do _something_."

He looked away. Nobody else would meet her gaze either.

_Let my shitty life be worth something, goddammit. _She closed her eyes tightly. The siren song of the infected bored through her braincells again, begging her to join them. Marcus fluttered like a bird in her mind, but stayed firm. Okay. She could do the same.

The seconds were tense. People were crowded up against each other; she could practically hear their thoughts drumming around in their skulls. Their fear was pungent, in the thick air, making her thirsty. Her skin broke out in goosebumps, every breath a rasp.

"Evie?"

She shied away from Eric touch. Tried to blot out the noise around her. The sobs. The prayers. The bargaining that they'd get to see their families. The mutters of vengeance. "It's going to be okay."

"No, it's not-"

"Eric, it's going to be okay 'cos I said it's okay."

"Evelyn-"

Her words came out as more of a snarl than she'd liked. "Can everyone just shut up? I need to concentrate."

They didn't oblige, but she knew that would happen anyway Greg watched from the sidelines, white as a sheet and cuddled against Susan, his eyes were glassy. His mind gone. He was so tiny. So defenceless. And Susan. The person she'd thought of as friend. No. She couldn't be angry. Not at her. Be angry at the situation. Use it. Forge it. Make it push away the fear. Let it grow. Evolve. Revolting, frightening anger that made her tense up, made her feel like electricity was dancing about in her bones.

Couldn't go back. Had to try. Save them

_Kill them._

The numbers counted down.

_Kill them all. _

She'd _promised_.

She raised the weapons, indulging the virus more, allowing it to reach outside her body and keep reaching; extending her senses outside the lift, hear the echoes of metal and wire, then the tramp of feet, many feet, teams perhaps, she couldn't count the steps but each heartbeat was marginally different-

"Twelve ahead. Ten on the landing. Two teams just outside." Ignoring the noise. Pushing further. Smelling danger. The virus had already leaked, already in the flesh of the residents outside. Sickly sweet. Calling to her, but making no sense. "Be ready."

Vincent to her left. Eric to her right. Both were armed. Neither said a word, but she felt their hearts quicken. Marcus's presence was strangely reassuring. No words. He didn't need words. He was just as pissed off as she was.

The doors opened.

It all went wrong.

"Save their brains!" Came the shout from somewhere behind the first lineup. Not that it mattered.

Evelyn blurred, opening fire as the people screamed, tried to escape a stampede to the exit, to her front, to the sides; ignoring all warnings, . Being cut down. Black. Leather. Yelling. Screaming. Her own voice, distorted as the bullets cut through her, forcing her back-

-just as the grenades were lobbed over her shoulder towards the attackers, uncaring of the mob of escapees, and she collided with something warm-

"'Ric?"

He grunted on impact, the lift doors closing on them both until something small scrabbled at them, she could hear Susan screaming as Greg-_shit when had Greg gotten up?_ – The boy slapped the button to make the lift doors open up, grabbing at one of the weapons – an inexpert shot, but enough to make any wiseguys in the cover of smoke not try to do anything. Evelyn found the strength to rise, the virus forcing her on, forcing her heart to keep pumping, her blood to keep flowing, brain alert and crystal clear through the blinding pain.

Wheezing: "'Ric!"

He was coughing. Shot. Blood oozed down his torso, but she couldn't tell whose it was, she had been his shield, the bullets having been slowed down in her own flesh and blood. The explosions covered them just enough for Susan to come to her senses, drag Eric and Greg away. Greg screamed something, a wordless something with his hand outstretched, over his shoulder, eyes wide with terror as he grasped for Evelyn like an infant. Crimson on his face. Like war paint. Blood. Her blood.

_Shit. _

No. No, _focus_.

Vincent provided cover fire. But it wasn't enough. Marcus shoved him aside in a rare moment of kindness, scooping up a weapon from a fallen administrator. "Jackson! People are _dying_ and it's _your fault_." Came the sullen growl.

"Fuck you." The rage rose in her like a crimson tide, swallowing sane thought. "_And fuck your shitty virus!_"

"That's the spirit!"

_Keep them busy._

More shooting. Evelyn found herself up against the wall again as they kept firing, trying to put her down. She could move – flicker in and out of existence at a speed unmatched – but her motions were clumsy, and she was exhausted, fading fast.

_Kill them. _

She watched some of the survivors be torn to shreds. Watched the men in black come forth like a tide, pulling the scientists free, watching them cry and bleat and beg. Of the civilians, nothing more than bloody smears across the marble floor.

Fuck.

Screams far off. Voices she recognized, her co-workers having run blindly into the Arklay mansion itself to take cover. From the sounds of it, no cover.

Oh, fuck.

Those traps. When had they been re-activated?

_**Fuck**_.

Chambers empty. She had exhausted every weapon slung on against her flesh. Her pause to check was enough to give the USS the shots they needed, the lead slugs popping wetly into her torso and abdomen. Evelyn gasped and sagged downwards, leaving a trail down the wall, and toppled over onto the marble of the floor. Her gaze faded in and out as they took them away, screaming. She caught Marcus' gaze one last time before someone brought the butt of a gun to the back of his head, and felt his presence leave her. A moment later she-

_Crack_.

oOo

_Get to the van. Get to the van._

Susan flew across the carpark, not caring who was behind her. Somewhere there were dogs barking, strangely distorted. Kind of wrong. But okay. She was okay. Why? Because there was the van. Now the keys.

Her mind had gone blank, and she could hear heavy treads behind her, almost punched Len when he reached her, shaking and whimpering and scrabbling at the door. The door. Rear mudflap. Extra key. Susan dove for it, not caring of the cuts from the gravel as she pulled it out, opened up the door and climbed inside.

"Len, Len you dozy fuck, open the doors-"

A month ago he would have just stared at her and told her to get lost. Now he snapped to attention, yanking the sliding door open and waving as more figures emerged. Eric cradled a screaming, kicking Greg as best he could, then Hiliary, more figures-

The two of them grabbed at the boxes, uncaring for what lay inside. A delivery never made, or never received. It didn't matter. Glass spilled over the gravel, the grass. Len grabbed Greg from Eric, chucked him inside. People climbed in, sweating, crying, screaming. Susan was shaking like a leaf. "They're gonna come after us."

Eric straightened up, clutching at his side. "They won't."

"Why?"

"Diversionary tactics." He slurred, and sped off.

Ahead of him, unnoticed by the others, Vincent was already kicking in one of the storage sheds, and pulling out one of the off-road motorbikes used when the lines went down. He looked up, surprised when Eric joined him, looking him up and down. For a moment his gaze flickered to Susan's, and she felt her heart break.

_No. Nonononofuckingnodon'tyoudare__**ohgod**__._

oOo

"Are you okay, Eric?" Eric didn't answer. Vincent frowned. "Eric!"

"I'm okay."

"Are you _sure_?"

He looked confused, but took the handlebars, swinging a leg over and gunning the motor. Coughed. "Never better, actually."

oOo

They made for a terrible honour guard, but Susan had by now managed to stop crying as the big fat transit van sped down the access road. So far nothing was following; the assembled force had come in from the main entrance and had focused mostly on the facility.

She tried not to think about Evie. Or Maram. Even Sarton, because you couldn't hate a guy that pathetic. Kendra she couldn't give a toss about. In fact, any of the other researchers they'd pulled out who had thrown themselves at the mercy of security force.

"We lost Alex."

"Huh."

Hilary wiped the sweat from her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, but I don't care."

"…Oh." The van bounced.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched Eric peel off and go into the underbrush to double back. Vincent held his position for a moment longer, in her eye gorgeous and beautiful as the day she'd met him despite having been underground with him for almost a month – she was, at this point, no looker either. Susan swallowed the pain and blew him a kiss.

He gave her a faint smile, then disappeared too. The motorbike's keening was a far more attractive option as they dived into the underbrush, leaving the van behind – unmolested and for the most part safe.

"Where are we gonna go?" Hilary asked as she climbed into the front seat. People were still huddled in the back; what gunshots that had been fired had hit a few people, but those that were alive were alive, that was what counted. "Into the city?"

"Far away."

"How far?"

"The moon, preferably." Susan changed gear, ignoring the ache in her chest. Umbrella would try to find them. Or maybe they were so worthless they wouldn't. Who was to say?

Silence. People swayed in time with the suspension, too tired, too frightened to do anything except rock. Only Len spoke, his eyes fixed in the distance somewhere from his seat on a toolbox, Greg curled up in a ball beside him. She couldn't think. Didn't want to think. Not about Vince. Not about Evie. Not about Eric. Susan put her foot down.

Fuck this.

Fuck this city.

_Fuck everything._

The van ventured onwards. Poetic justice would have had it disappear into the sunset; but there was no more time for poetry. For Raccoon City, there would soon be no more time at all.

oOo

"Adult female; Caucasian. Multiple scaring to the limbs, predominantly on the right of the body; multiple stab wounds, estimated time of healing, several months; twenty three…twenty four shots to the torso, abdomen and limbs; tattoo on the small of the back…some kind of snake holding its tail. Uh. More scarring, again, very old. Christ almighty, twenty-four shots? Have any of you heard of overkill?"

"She wouldn't stop moving."

The medic gave the soldier a sharp look. "Another one of those walking experiments of yours?"

"I don't know, but there's a reason why we're in hazmat suits."

The medic bit back a curse and without much of a flourish, unclipped the securing on his helmet and popped it off, inhaling happily. Understandably, the soldier shot backwards with a yelp. "Blood tests came back negative for a reaction to Tyrant. There are remnants, but nothing alive. A couple of unknown compounds but she's not contagious."

The spluttering was almost comical. Desperate. "Of _course_ she's not. She's a fucking corpse."

"Mathews." The medic said, very tiredly. "Corpses don't bleed."

oOo

He found her weeks later when he'd come in to give Birkin a piece of his mind.

He didn't feel well.

He really, really didn't feel well.

The virus in him was trying to connect to a source that no longer existed – but what it could find was the growing web of Tyrant as it swept across Raccoon. The hallucinations were put down to exhaustion. Exhaustion and dismay. He had lost his teams. He had tried, and he had failed. Regret. Guilt. Things he wasn't used to. Arklay had been a mess. His people gone. He'd not expected such a reaction, but there it was. He'd cared. They'd chose, yes, they could have opted out of the mission, but they chose not to. He clung to that, but the responsibility still lay with him, and the trust of children – because what else were they? – gone forever. They'd been useful. They'd…earned his respect. And for the first time in his life he'd not needed to watch his back. What little good that had been.

Birkin couldn't be found, but there were hard drives to exploit. Out of spite he released some of the smaller creatures to trouble the labs – and with it, her.

The virus latched onto the one part of the hive-mind that worked, and was stable, and through that link came a soothing balm of the like Wesker hadn't experienced. He'd rejected it at first, but was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

The cell they'd kept her in was pristine. She had been curled up by the door but had scrambled to a corner to watch him approach. He'd meant to say something striking, perhaps take a piece of her for testing later – put her in her place, because of the scowl she gave him - because he knew, he knew _without a shadow of a doubt_ that she was the same as him, he didn't have to look at her glowing eyes, no.

But Wesker found no words. Wesker found no charm.

Wesker discovered that despite his humanity was taken away, he was still very, very human. And his very human body failed him, failed him gently. He crumpled to the floor, the hard drives dropping from his hands. He couldn't breathe. The pain was blinding.

The woman – and the primal parts of his body _sang_ like nothing he'd ever felt before – took his weapon and calmly stepped over him, into the lab.

**PRESENT DAY**

"We have incoming."

They were not the words she wanted to hear. Kendra looked up from her notebook; face lit by the screen. Adjusting her headset she scanned the windshield, trying to spot what the pilot had picked up.

"Radar, ma'am. Picking up heavy electrical interference."

"Bollocks." Kendra snarled. "Looks like she wasn't at the facility."

"Ma'am?"

"A rogue Queen unit."

"Ma'am."

"But the signal is huge. If we can break her-"

"Ma'am, it's not a Queen."

"But-" Kendra stopped. A few more clicks on the keypad pulled up the other recorded samples, and the drives whirred as the little machine tried to match the data, find a connection. "Explain _how_…" She paused – she didn't even know the man's name.

"Jacobson." The pilot offered. He just pointed. "And Queen-class BOWs can't fly."

Holding her breath, she tried to hold the image in her mind before the creature darted into a cloudbank. Beautiful. A quick glance over her shoulder. Yes. El-Amin's handiwork. She'd have to have a chat with him considering the subject had been gone for almost five years. Had he really been experimenting prior to her own work? Or was this…something else?

_James…?_ She narrowed her eyes in thought.

"Looks like it's not alone." The pilot shifted the gearstick and the helicopter slowed, swinging around a little to view the oncoming battle.

Kendra nodded, not trusting her voice. Creatures wheeled in out of nowhere, things of flesh and bone and pulsating egg-sacs. The records called them Popokarimu. She didn't like the word, it didn't really roll off her tongue and she couldn't stand looking ignorant like that. Following them were Kipepeo, clouds of them. "Looks like TriCell have a breeding colony."

A click from her headset – Sarton's voice hissing in her ear. "You think the Queens have been keeping them at the facility?"

"No. Plagas are fiercely territorial. The Queens are dangerous, but won't attack a complete hive. The…" What could she call it? Yes, Hmm. "The _rogue_ on the other hand is an unknown. We've been cleaning this place for weeks now. Circle, I want to watch this. Set the cameras up to record, we could use it as promotional material for the next product run."

She heard Sarton gulp.

Strange that El-Amin hadn't responded. Never mind. Probably playing with that silly bitch of Wesker's again.

oOo

The animal minds of the Plagas screamed threat. Ordinarily they would be fighting each other amidst the honeycomb hive of the facility, breeding their numbers up for the next little sortie. The Plagas had never been able to create full bodies before, so it was important to keep this little patch of safety to themselves.

They wheeled as one, turned as one, flocking incredibly swiftly as the survival instinct took over.

The unknown wasn't co-operating.

It peeled away, diving into the clouds. They lacked the reasoning of the human branch of their species, but the Kipepeo did what they did best – clumped together and tried to follow.

Considering the creature they were chasing was many times their size, this was not a good idea.

Dropping like a stone, the beast was suddenly amongst them. The cat amongst the pigeons…

oOo

"Note the wingspan."

"Different evolution entirely."

"But where did it come from? None of the other mutations had this ability. We've had to introduce it in order to have that option of _change_."

"But you're relying on the fact its ours. It could be a control Plagas having adapted several creatures together."

"…Henry, you're showing _remarkable_ intelligence today."

"Err…"

oOo

The Popokarimu had grown tired of their smaller cousins being rather useless. Tails and jaws and claws alike they tried to twist after the intruder…but it was far different from the two-legged squishy things that had been so very tasty and full of interesting ideas. Confused as their talons found little purchase, barely able to understand the basics of aerodynamics – bumblebees against sparrows – and the thing was _slippery_. Smooth scale and short hair; it twisted from their grasp. It slashed at them, and when talons caught, it would fold its wings against its body; armour of leather and feather, spinning as it did so, dragging them with it.

Shrieking and flailing, gaping holes exposing precious innards. Pieces dropped from the sky, red rain.

The wet slap of leather heralded the re-opening of the wing-sets, while the fumbling Popkarimu that had been attacked bleated in distress.

Its fellows were torn between continuing the attack, or eating their failed companion.

The unknown couldn't care less.

oOo

"Host does determine mental capacity, it seems."

"Well the ones in Spain could talk. Properly." A frown. More tapping away. She needed binoculars or something, but it would be hard to keep up. The film would have to do later, on a higher resolution. "TriCell may have cut out that part of the sequence. Or it could be to do with maturity."

Sarton let out a low whistle. "Driven by bloodlust?"

"Or punishment."

The great winged bat-larvae were eating their own.

oOo

Sparks flew off the metal. The noise brought Chris to his senses – properly, not just through pain – and he dove to the floor. Sheva let out a yelp and backpedaled – the bullet hadn't ricocheted, but Greg was scrambling towards her and all she could do was pull out her handgun and try and track the shooter.

The halls were dark. They'd been lit once, and some of the lights still worked, but most were broken bulbs that crunched underground, the pristine walls gone and replaced with stains, old stains of blood and dirt. Things howled in the dark, making the hairs on the back of her neck stiffen. Distant clattering. Claws on metal.

"We got a live one." She growled.

Greg snorted.

Chris, scrambling for a shotgun, tried scanning the area too. "Not Majini. It's not running towards us."

Sheva squinted. Aimed.

There was a clatter as the shooter dove for cover. "Yeah. Not Majini. Not one of ours either."

Greg stood, his nostrils flaring. His eyes widened, and Chris was suddenly there, pulling at him – "Get down, get down!" And the person was shooting at them again, warning shots Sheva realized, damn, they were _good_.

Had she imagined two glowing pinpoints from where they'd come in?

_Aw, crap._

oOo

It rode the thermals, testing an injured wing and watching the macabre display in front of it. The larger beasts could hover almost, the smaller ones could only circle, but with the correct twist of its wings, the creature found it could copy the motion. Now it cocked an ear at the rumbling in the sky, picking up the sparks of electricity that would arc through the clouds and kill them all.

Also the mechanical noise.

The danger.

Something clicked in its memory of pieces and personality. Danger, yes. Flying things. Danger. With a twitch of a shoulder it soared away from the flock, zoning in on the unpleasant frequencies.

oOo

"Steady, _steady_-"

"Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee_ezuz**christ**_" Came the hiss. Around them was static, the pilot pulling at his headset as a shadow crossed over them, horribly close to the blades. "Did you fucking _see_ that thing? Shit-"

"We're being tested." Kendra gasped, keenly aware that she was very close to wetting herself. "It didn't strike us. Not a Plagas response. Not Tyrant, either."

"Could be any number of variations." Sarton sounded excited.

The pilot didn't care. He couldn't see the creature in his peripheral vision. It had shot between the three choppers, looking at each of them before twisting away. Something like that shouldn't fly. Movement in the clouds- "It's coming 'round again-"

oOo

The flock returned. Now it picked up on the machines as well, but as far as the unknown was concerned, it had had enough of this. Pumping its wings frantically, tasting the winds in the higher strata with its tendrils, it flew towards a thunderhead.

oOo

"What the _hell_ are you doing?"

Chris' jaw dropped. "_Wesker_?"

No. This _couldn't_ be the same man. The same dead man at the bottom of a volcano. Chris dropped the shotgun and flung himself left as another shot was fired. _It couldn't be_.

"_Answer me, damn you_!"

Sheva, shocked. "Chris, is he-"

"Un-fucking-believable." He whispered in response, staring back at her.

And that's when the Reapers found them.

~** _to be continued._**

_Hi guys, sorry it's taken so damn long to get this next chapter out :x A bit shorter than my usual text-walls due to classes being later on today and me working on original gear, so. Yeah. I know how this is ending – and possibly continuing now. Not sure if this is a good thng!_


	10. Kiss for the Dying

_I took the long road in realizing I can't squash a seven year relationship into a few paragraphs, nor a mental breakdown. That kind of sucks. So here's the shorthand version :( Massive warning, this chapter may contain triggers for people; implied non-con sex, tentacles and abduction/ violence. Also a bit of hinted B&D._

_I am never writing two stories side by side again for the one plot. This is madness. I'm so sorry it's taken so long for this update!  
><em>

**PANDORA'S SONG**

**CHAPTER TEN:** Kiss for the Dying

It was too easy to fall into the old rhythm, to remember the old signals, to have some form of…trust. Chris remembered how efficient Wesker had been with fighting – when he was actually paying attention and wasn't being a complete and total dick. What Wesker thought of _him_ the younger man didn't know, nor care. All that mattered was the shooting the right creatures, falling back under cover fire and then repeating the process again.

Oh, he had a million and one questions. But questions fell flat when your life was at stake.

Okay, perhaps not _all_ of them.

"Where the hell did these come from?"

"A parting present from Irving, I believe." Wesker snarled. He was hurriedly reloading. He was healing slower – the slashes from one particularly murderous Reaper still coated his arms with sluggish crimson. "Economical, yes. Difficult to control, most certainly. They've set up colonies. _Las Plagas _has gone from a parasite to a symbiote." He aimed and fired – something big and scaly went down. "Cheeky _bastard_."

"Jealous you didn't get there first?"

"Be quiet, Chris."

They pulled back another two junctions into a part of the complex that had not been on their route the first time around. It seemed absurd to be working together, but the Reapers weren't picky as to who they fought; and technically it was Chris' fault for running into the dark, ignoring Wesker's snarls to stop. Now all of them were running, or at least trying to run – Wesker in the lead and sure-footed, Sheva bringing up the rear and shooting far better than the injured Greg. Chris was just waiting for an excuse to shoot Wesker in the kidneys.

Avoiding the worst of the mess, the little group made their way past broken hives and twisted bodies. It was hard to see, most of the power had been cut with light only supplied from the exit signs, but for some reason – probably viral – Wesker never put a foot wrong.

One such fire exit sign caught Chris' eye. Wesker was making for it.

Opening the door hurriedly, he raised his gun again and shot into the flickering dark. "Hurry. Down to level three."

"What's on level three?"

Wesker didn't answer. The Reapers just shrieked and wailed, coming closer.

Sheva leapt down the steps – clean steps, this place hadn't been touched yet – and Chris clattered down after her. He turned, hearing Greg's wordless yelp, the youth grabbing Wesker and pulling him back through the door right before the Reapers slammed into it.

Did he imagine the look between the two of them?

"Go. _Go_."

oOo

"It's beautiful." Sarton whispered, knowing his every word was being broadcasted. The creature pumped its wings hard to get into the sky, climbing into the thunderheads. "I want it."

"You and everyone else." Kendra's voice crackled. "Fall back."

"Why?"

"The _signal_, remember. Keep in mind the specific abilities of the subject – it's still transmitting."

Sarton tried to remember. It had been years ago, but it came flooding back. "But-"

"You _want_ to fall out of the sky?"

He went to answer but his words were snatched away from him by a colossal roll of thunder as his sight was ripped from him in the blast of white. Not just thunder. It was accompanied by a horrible hissing, whooshing noise. Fire. Lightning – manufactured lightning – burned itself into his retinas as it tumbled down. Caught in its path, following the creature that sourced it, the _plagas_-controlled monsters were fried in the resulting fireball.

Ashes turned to a mucky paste over the windshield.

Sarton was only vaguely aware of how close he'd come to filling his pants. "Wow."

Steam swam around the attacker. Hanging in space, hovering on its dual-set wings, the new mutation hung in space, contemplating the helicopters beneath it. Electricity arced around the extremities of its tentacles, earthed itself in those spindly talons.

"What's it _doing_?" Came the question at the back.

He could almost hear Kendra grating her teeth. "Planning its next attack."

"But it shouldn't _have_ this kind of intelligence, _none_ of the test subjects bar the Queens have higher reasoning beyond finding suitable hosts-" Sarton sank into a coughing fit as the ash found its way into the cockpit. The helicopter moved back, trying to find where the wind was to clear the way.

"That's what they said about Marcus." Sarton was very glad he couldn't see Kendra's face. Her voice said too much.

The creature folded its wings and dived towards them.

oOo

The door opened with a hiss. Labs upon labs. They ran through them, following him blindly.

He didn't like that. But then Chris had never been one to question things until it was too late. The labs gave him no safety, and certainly no peace. Wesker took a hard right, hands out to stop himself crashing into a benchtop as he sprinted to the next door.

"Slow down!"

"No."

"What?"

"The pair of you being here with the boy makes things difficult and complicated." Ah, the door he was looking for. Wesker told himself he wasn't panicking. Because he wasn't. No. A couple of careful applications of pressure and the door came free. "You shouldn't be here. _Nobody_ should be here. And yet for some reason you're the third BSAA team to come knocking on my door."

Sheva glared at him. "Well excuse us for disturbing you."

Wesker peered out into the gloom, and then poked his head back in. "Chris? Keep this one. I like her."

"_What_?"

Greg burst into giggles, and Chris just stared, mouth open. "Excuse me?"

"_No_." He was so infuriating. "To answer your next, _inevitable_ questions while we still have time, the previous teams are dead. They were in here before I knew, there was no time to intervene." A pause. Something up ahead clattered, but stopped clattering when it realized it was being watched. "I suppose they had to send you two…" He spoke to reassure them. It – whatever it was, with each generation the Reapers became stranger and stranger - left trails of light in the gloom. He could just see them if he concentrated, trails of blue fire. It made him feel sick, sicker than sick – Progenitor swirling in his veins and screaming in panic – but there it was. Those last few pieces of her legacy. _Stop. You've dwelled on that enough. Let go._ Every bullet hit. The creature went down.

Wesker licked his lips, pleased for the dark. "You were sent to retrieve something, I gather. I never thought that I would be on the receiving end of one of these treasure hunts, but there we go."

"We're….we're not…" A pause. Realization dawned in those eyes. "Wait…"

He didn't have time for this. Wesker trotted down the stairs, wishing for the emergency lighting to come back on, but the generators were long since dead. His senses – thought beaten into submission a long time ago – were flooding back. Smell for one. Hearing. Even, despite the gloom, sight. Touch. Minute vibrations of something new slithering ahead. Awakening to his need to survive.

The worst part was the voices. The distant, insistent voices.

He felt nauseous. He'd do anything for a shot right now of serum. Anything at all. _Just make it stop._ Even some of Excella's batch, despite the consequences. The same consequences that were slowing him down, making him slow, making him stupid.

He was also starting to see that bloody man again out of the corner of his eye. Hallucinating for sure, but the outline of those six red eyes followed him in the gloom, until he tried to look. Tried to find the figure. And then he was gone…

Turning to face the agents, framed like heroes in the half-light of the exit sign, Wesker shrugged. "You were sent to retrieve data, weren't you? Well here we are." He raised his hands in a flourish, mock-bowing. "Welcome to the cut-throat world of pharmaceuticals."

oOo

They had to move quickly. The creature plunged past them and pulled up, just at the last minute, flying beneath them. It knew no match in the air at this point, but that could change with the right weapons. Jill squeezed her restraints in frustration. Just give her a gun. Give her anything. She could take it down.

Through the windows, Maram was watching it, face lit up in wonder.

"That cannot hit the black market." She muttered at last, and was thankfully ignored. He scooted back to his seat, licking his lips nervously.

"It won't."

The 'copter lurched, then started to lose altitude. A brief glimpse of the horizon showed the facility as a smear against the darkening sky, the pilot fighting the turbulence. The beast had cleared the way, but the second wave of Kipepeo were pouring out of the ventilation system. Jill craned her neck to watch the mercenaries assemble their weapons.

It wove between them, minute twitches of its wings as it rode the air currents, an ugly, twisted, serpent. Those fiery eyes left trails as it moved, lines of crimson forming down it's skin again as it made another pass.

"What the hell is it doing?"

"Testing us." Maram answered.

She blinked. "Testing us? Testing us how?" A pause. "How do you know?"

"I-"

Talons raked the underside of their helicopter, making it bounce a little. Someone shrieked, and the pilot started to swear, dropping the machine faster. All Jill could see was the massive H of the landing pad and the TriCell logo. The creature _howled_.

But the pilot was skilled, regaining control. The helicopter didn't fall from the sky, but did skid once it hit the tarmac, leaving a trail of sparks as the engines shrieked. It was just in time; the other two landed in the quadrant, rocking as the beast tried to land with them, but twisted away at the last minute. The blades proved too much of a danger.

Jill felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

"Heads up!"

The air was filled with chittering and hissing as another swarm of Kipepeo spiraled out of the facility to meet them.

"Don't open the doors, don't open the doors!" Howls from Sarton. The second helicopter came down. The little creatures were ignoring the big one and were launching themselves at the rotors. The air rained in bits and wet splashes. "Arm up, get ready!"

"Shut up!" Came the howl back.

The third helicopter landed.

"Do _not_ go outside!"

Someone didn't listen. The panic button had been hit, and Jill watched in horror as one of the sliding doors was opened – just across from her, there were still showers of sparks from rotor blades almost clashing were it not for the caution of the pilots – and someone got out. Two people actually. Then a third. They raced towards the doors, one of them falling and having the swarm descend on them…Jill turned away. Yells of joy as the they reached the door, cheering-

_Oh, no._

The shadow fell over them and with a crack, Jill found her sight and hearing gone, momentarily disturbed by light and a roar from the localized lightning strike. It took her breath away, almost knocking her fragile sanity loose.

Magnified, over and over by who knew what in the creature's bloodstream, what had been two human beings were charred stumps in boots and smoking slag. Kipepeo ash coated the area again, and moans of pain and fright were all around her, as slowly, oh so slowly, she recovered.

The beast threw back its head and shrieked.

The doors opened, and everyone filtered out, gingerly, bleeding from their noses and eyes, the fragile vessels injured by the sudden pressure. Jill found herself manhandled down the ramp, Maram with her.

Overhead the creature circled, then darted away.

"That is the ugliest guardian angel I've ever seen." She muttered, from the safety of Maram's arms.

"Someone get a bird in the air, I need Alpha and Bravo team to descend to labs 42 and 21." Crackling over their headsets. "Samples may still be viable, provided poachers haven't cleaned it out completely. Shoot anything that moves. "

Jill wracked her brains. She couldn't remember a lab 42. Lab 21 had those creepy flowers in it. But lab 42…

They were moving again, a tight group bristling with guns.

Lab 42…Lab 42…

_The ship. _

Heart pounding in shock, Jill didn't notice the drop in air temperature, or the cries of those around her, too busy trying to cover her mouth, too busy trying to forget what had happened here. Something swept over the group, almost knocking people to the ground. Individuals broke out into a run, into the side alleys and pathways which were far more direct.

Behind them, one of the helicopters was starting up again.

Jill turned.

The new mutation pulled up and she heard it clatter over the buildings as it tried to land. The clattering became louder as it found stone and pulled itself up, gleaming-dark and mottled browns in what was left of the sunlight. It stared at her, right at her. Through her.

Six crimson eyes, glowing in the dark. And then it was gone.

**SEPTEMBER 9****TH****, 1998**

"I don't need you."

She heard those words a lot on the good days. Left him to it as he muddled along. On the bad days – bad days like this one - she held her ground and in turn held his as he struggled with whatever had been let loose inside his body. She felt the fear and the pain. She understood it, and soothed it, as she wished someone had done, back then in the depths of Arklay. But then she'd not been alone. There had been people there. It had helped, somehow.

She tried not to think about where they were now, her friends, if they could still be called that. If they had gotten away. If they were okay. Her world dissolved into a few streets and a little apartment and the man with the same eyes as hers, keening on the bathroom floor.

Evelyn turned on the water and held him as the warmth rushed down, soothed him. Whispers through gritted teeth as he shivered and shook through his anti-fever. "_I don't need you_."

His thoughts were moths, fluttering against a backdrop of growing noise as it spread, lines of psychic crimson, the hellish roots of a parasite spreading through Raccoon City. Evelyn had her defenses. He had none. So he clung to her. Said foul things. Terrible things. Threats. Bribes. All of it, she ignored.

"Just. Just let me go."

(_Please. __**Please**_.)

His hands, holding onto her for a moment too long. A space shared too intimately for strangers. _This_ was the voice she listened to.

_(Please don't leave me_.)

oOo

The echoes followed them no matter where they went. The last lives and minds of Raccoon, too distant to hear, too distant to understand, but watching, always watching, not knowing they were dead and dust, spread to the winds.

There were more of them, more of _her_.

Manufactured, of course, taken from samples stolen while she lay on the table. He tried not to think of them as her daughters, but it's difficult to shake that thought. What Spencer wanted with them, Wesker didn't want to know. They were called Queens – subtle in their control of basic BOWs. Nothing marketable quite yet – but each of them were savage beauties, handpicked from the stables of careful breeding the company seemed to do.

Oddly enough, he preferred the original. He just never said it. Certainly never _told_ her. There was trouble enough as she tried to return to the outside world, desperate to be normal again.

It didn't work out.

Wesker told himself he wasn't glad of that. That being saddled with someone like Evelyn was a pain in the ass. But really, there was no better place to keep an eye on her. He was just protecting his assets, after all.

oOo

"Don't fall in love with him."

She looked up from her studies, face pale. Marcus didn't pay her any more attention, still writing away on the board. The equations and formula flickered as he moved the stylus over the screen, every piece of data collected and recorded onto the computers far away from them, outside his cell. "I'm not."

Umbrella would never waste a mind like that, despite the now curious forms the man could take. His cell was spacious, well lit at all times. Glass walls except for a paper screen for privacy when it came to using the amenities. The whole cell was suspended above a chlorinated salt pool; Marcus was going nowhere and fast, but while they could lock up his physical form, his mind was as free as the world outside.

Evelyn did not come down to visit him out of friendship. She preferred to call it respect, but most of the time he only wound her up. Probably on purpose.

"You have returned to Umbrella, and you feed him secrets. You bury your nose in books and try to make up for that poor education of yours in the hope he will take notice. He will not."

It stung. There was no point in lying to him, Marcus could read her easily without even having to look at her. He was good at reading people – something she was desperately trying to catch up on. "Did you ever consider it might be for myself?"

He glanced over his shoulder, silver eyes gleaming. "It had. But your thoughts…wander."

Evelyn snapped the book shut. It was loud enough to make the guard jump. "Of course they're going to bloody wander! I'm, oh…_Doctor Marcus_!" The last sentence came out as a hiss. She felt embarrassed at the admittance, but it was hard enough as it was without him being horrible about it. "I'm only human. He is quite…" Find the right word. Oh _please_. _**Anything**_. "…attractive." Shit.

"And he will use you up, tire of you and then throw you away." She rolled her eyes, but he continued. "He takes a girl and he showers her with compliments…with gifts. Girls of nobility and wealth. He takes what he wants, and once the chase is done, and he has sown his wild oats, he is done with them."

"I'm a walking biohazard. You don't think I know this? I see it every day working with him! Half the office is smitten!" She got up, storming over to his board and his precious experiments. He didn't stop her as she swiped the stylus from his hand and started to draw over his work in big sweeping strokes. "I. Am. The. First. Of. My. Kind." A big, cartoonish monster leered over them both. She paused then, humiliated. "And the _last_. I _know_ what's happening. And I'm…I'm not going to make the same mistake twice in a row." Her hand dropped, and she let her shoulders slump. But it was only for a moment. She rallied herself, reigned in her temper.

Again, that nervous tuck of her hair behind her ears. She tried to shoot him a glare, but Marcus…his face was drawn with sadness. It was disarming. "I hope, my little fighter, you are right." With great care he cupped her face and drew her close to him, kissing her forehead. "Because you are worth more than that."

oOo

Antarctica had not been a success. He'd never expected to see Chris, and he certainly hadn't expected to find that Eric and Vincent were more than just capable – they were _brilliant_. Evelyn's recommendations hadn't been wrong. He just…hadn't expected to bring Veronica back with him.

It didn't do much to men. To women, _well_.

The ID card was stolen. Maram's business. Man was actually incredibly useful, and Wesker had noted in the practical part of his brain that it was of great importance to keep contact with him. The non-practical part just clawed at the walls and howled.

Marcus sat on his throne of cheap laminate and corduroy, a cup of coffee in hand. Watched him twist up inside. Waited for him to admit it.

"It's my fault."

Marcus smiled. "What have you done?"

"She's dying."

That smile got wider. "…Oh my."

"Help me." He whispered.

"_Why_?"

_God_. Wesker closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. It was only for a minute, only a minute of weakness. He tried to block out what he'd seen. He tried not to think how he'd seen all the signs, but ignored them, ignored them because he'd become complacent with her. She'd just. Dropped. Burning up.

His hands shook. It shouldn't be having this affect on him, but he felt like he was made of broken glass. Wesker swallowed, trying to regain control. Trying to face Marcus, but the bastard said nothing, just watched

"Hurts, doesn't it." Marcus said at last, and slid off his chair, so surprisingly human and yet not. "All those brains. All that posturing _swagger_. Can't save a life."

Wesker stared at him, eyes narrowed with hate.

Marcus leaned into him, grinning as he flinched at the contact. His skin was cool, dry, but with the same infernal heat that powered them all. Wesker allowed himself to be drawn close, the touch almost…intimate…as Marcus examined his face, silver eyes half-lidded in the expression of thought that the younger man remembered from years gone by in the labs. Marcus turned his head to the side roughly, Wesker biting down a cry of pain, and then shuddering as Marcus licked the inner shell of his ear. The whisper was soft. Sullen.

"You can't save her." A brief, awful squeeze. Companionship from long, long ago, dead and buried in the basements of Arklay. "But _I _can. For a price, of course."

oOo

Hot and cold. Cold and hot. He changed his mind faster than a child in a candy store. Were it not because she needed him, Evelyn would have walked out. But Veronica compelled her to stay, lodged deep into her genes and forcing her onwards.

Months, it had taken. Months to get over it. To find strength again. The scars would possibly never heal, but it was backed into a corner – and should it get out, Eric and Vincent would fight it back. She bit her lip, noticeably distressed, and closed her eyes when he touched her face, the caress tender and warm.

"Evolution, child, is never easy."

She'd gotten used to him saying that now. Calling her a child. Marcus didn't understand the concept of personal space, but he was engaging, and was, at that time, trying to teach her chess. They sat across a little table from each other, and fresh coffee steamed from the mugs beside them. Marcus was doing his best to impart his wisdom, but it wasn't working out so well. She wasn't the only player, either. Maram was spending more and more time down here of late.

Under the watchful eyes of the guards, she continued to try and win the game. Beneath the table there was a pin-prick which made her swallow hard. Chemicals swam in her bloodstream; he read her without needing the machines now, and gave her what she needed.

"You keep fighting the impulses?"

"They're not mine."

"Will-power is your ally. Adaptability your sword." Marcus shifted the pieces of the board with a grace unmatched, her own attempts to catch his pieces clumsy and childish. "I have heard rumours that the other Queens are not faring so well. Eventually the change will come to you."

"…Does it hurt?"

"I do not know. You have evolved down a different branch to me, otherwise I would be compelled to destroy you. Only one queen in a hive, my little soldier."

Evelyn nodded, her thoughts private. _But I'm not a queen_. Her blood burned. _I'm a pawn._

"Do you hear it? Do you hear _him_?"

The question came out of nowhere, and her hand hovered over the board, a knight in hand. Marcus spoke of her angel. The six-eyed man. She knew it as she knew her own reflection. "No."

He leaned close, an intimate whisper in her ear. "You need to learn to lie, Evelyn."

oOo

He left the gerbera on her desk again, in passing. She didn't look up. She didn't have to.

He knew that the whispers had already started, but they were ones of confusion. He told himself he valued her for her enthusiasm and sheer bloodymindedness, but that was only to defend his ego. It didn't help that he knew it was all lies.

Pushing her away had been the only option in his mind, but she seemed to see through all of that. He didn't deserve such patience. He didn't deserve such honesty. But there it was. And he didn't know how to deal with that except to want to protect it quite fiercely.

Ada laughed about all of this until he could feel the tips of his ears go pink. None of his behavioral training could stop it, and that was _embarrassing_.

"You're in love." Ada teased.

His answer was stoic silence, which told her all she needed to know, so he didn't pay her for the next job she worked for him.

That did not go down well at all.

oOo

She was getting tired of picking up after his lovers. She tried not to judge them for their fancy shoes and fancier dresses, their fancy suits, exquisite in almost all their ways except the obvious, crying and shaking on his carpet after the inevitable break up once they were used up. Albert Wesker got everything he wanted, Evelyn knew. She didn't exactly factor into this apart from knowing what lay beyond those dark glasses, and knowing why each person was targeted. To say she was taking solace that she was the only one not being used – not exactly – was taking it lightly.

The bitterness was hard to swallow.

May 16th. 2000. He'd wrecked the bed again. She wasn't paid enough to be his maid, and he sat there like the cat who'd got the cream, flawless, and her hating him for it. "Just let me go."

"No. Why?"

"Because I'm sick of these games."

Wesker looked to the floor of his apartment, how he'd not bothered to even hide last night's activities. The shower was still going, an off-key voice singing. Last night's conquest. Evelyn watched him from the doorway. She seemed thinner now. Haunted. He hated that. Blamed himself, but didn't know what else to do. If he held her too long he'd break her, just like he'd broken all the good things in his life.

"They're not games."

"Then what are they? You only need me for what's inside me. And now that's useless too."

"Veronica only increased your abilities."

"I can control BOWs. So what? I can't do it under stress. All I can do is sing them to sleep. The others-"

"-Were built from your DNA. We discussed this. Spencer wanted to replicate you. He used what he could from the samples taken while you were trapped in Raccoon." Wesker's head hurt. He didn't want this now. Not ever. "Evelyn-"

"Please." Her voice was thick. Her eyes shone. Why did she have to be so damn fragile? "You have your serum. You don't need me anymore."

"Then what's keeping you here?" He stood up, quickly, grabbing her before she could get away. Pressing her up against the wall so that they were belly to belly, twisting her wrists above her head. She didn't cry out with pain; just bit her lip, grinding against him. Distraction or threat? He wasn't sure. "You're a pain."

"Unhand me."

"No."

He narrowly missed having a four-inch kitten-heel dug into his toes as she struggled, hissing. "Petulant _child_."

"I don't want the _serum_, Evelyn."

The air was suddenly hot and damp. Loud with rushing water.

Nose to nose. Her eyes were wide, but her gaze fierce. Threatening. A little Queen. So similar to Marcus he almost wanted to laugh. She opened her mouth to speak, and he saw his chance, kissing her hard, half expecting her to bite off his tongue.

The kiss was returned.

Wesker ignored the pained gasp behind him, and let Evelyn go. A hiss, by her ear. "I want _you_." She tottered a little, off balance, wiping her mouth, copper eyes narrowed.

Wesker smirked as she stalked away. And then kicked himself internally because it was a dick move, and he _knew_ it. Bollocks.

Another sob, at his side. Ugh. He'd forgotten. Eyes narrowed, he got up, stooped to pick up the clothing and threw it at the woman who stood there, bedraggled and possibly ashamed. Or just hurt. Wesker had stopped caring. "Be quick and get out."

**August 10****th****, 2001**

The dances were careful - he couldn't spook the buyers, he couldn't spook the sellers. Everything had to be careful, everything had to be…perfect. It was only a matter of time before he met with TriCell. Difficult to deal with. They'd asked to meet at a charity ball, and as a rule Wesker tried to avoid them. Tonight was no different, except he'd not put up that much of a fight.

"Be gentle with her."

The evening was too hot by far, his suit sticking to him. They were out on one of the balconies overlooking the massive gardens of the mansion, him leaning against the cold stone, her with her back to it, perched on the railing. Wesker downed his water quickly, watching Evelyn out of the corner of his eye. "Excuse me?"

Evelyn gave him a gentle smile and inclined her head to one of the doors further down the long expanse of creamy tiles, rambling jasmine and floor to ceiling glass windows. Peeping at them from one of the open French doors, fingers wrapped around the curtain, the offspring of one of the heads ducked back into hiding.

Wesker scowled. "Her parents need to keep her under control."

"Another child genius, apparently." Evelyn murmured, before sipping on her drink. The look she gave him made him flush. "But was watching us the entire time."

"She wasn't watching _us_."

"I know. She was watching you. They seem to start them off early, here."

Resisting the urge to throw his glass off the balcony and into the garden below, Wesker ran his free hand through his hair. "Why?"

"Because you're a better candidate than these ill-educated science types who are hanging off anything they can get their hands on." Evelyn uncoiled herself, whispering silk and lace as she moved and leaned into him, shoulder to shoulder, pressing her face against his jacket.

"Go away." He muttered. "You are far too warm."

"You're the one in the stuffy jacket. Just one dance with her."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I didn't come here to dance."

"Mmhm." Evelyn answered, mouth still pressed against his shoulder, eyes bright. He wished she didn't have to wear contacts. He wished they both didn't have to wear contacts. They were so itchy. "You came to plot."

He leaned close, voice a low hiss, lips framing a kiss that never came. "And _you_ came to bother me."

"Ah, but that's my job. Make her night. She's just a kid."

Wesker went to reply, but stopped. He leaned close and licked her forehead. "You owe me." He muttered, and then withdrew, ignoring the light tap of disgust at his arm.

The girl was back, tiny and frail and dressed up far too old for her scant years. She looked like she would faint as he approached, looking from him to Evelyn as he approached. Evelyn wasn't too far away either, winding her arms gently around his and smiling at the scowling girl. "Take care of him for me, okay? I just need to go and freshen up."

Excella Gionne looked like she was about to explode with glee.

**JULY 19****th**** 2004**

The Organization wasn't happy with him.

This had to be the work of one of the minor executives. The team had been sent to his current base of operations to lie in wait for them, but they thought they were waiting for a former Umbrella researcher. They were not expecting Wesker to be a functioning biological weapon – nor that he'd brought a friend.

The office was ruined. _Damn it, Ada. _So she was selling him out now too, was she? Typical. Stealing his research wasn't enough, she had to put him on a silver platter for the Organization, too…

There was nothing he could do to stop the shaking of his limbs. The moment of rage had passed, leaving adrenaline in its wake. The enemy was vanquished and security his own once more, but it had come at a price. Evelyn hadn't seen combat for a while. Not that it mattered – she'd been just as ruthless – but she lacked the self-righteous aftermath. Spattered with blood she stared at her hands, having thrown away the magnum she'd pulled off of one of the more incompetent attackers. The shiver that passed over her was quick, but violent.

Wesker holstered the Edge, offering an arm and wrapping her into him as tight as he could. She only came up to his chest, head bowed and trying not to sob. She knew he hated to see her cry. What it meant. _Weakness_. Awful, awful weakness. And he hated himself for what he'd taught her. "Shh. Shh."

They weren't ready for this yet. He hadn't completed his plan. And the flight tomorrow-!

He took off his gloves, and traced a thumb down the side of her cheek, as she looked up at him. Terror in her eyes. Questions. Questions he didn't know how to answer without hurting her. The walls she'd built to protect them both from the hive mind were creaking dangerously, but he watched her pull herself back together again, swallow the fear down. Pride fluttered in the shell he called a heart, despite her shivers.

_I hate what you've done to me_. He kissed her forehead, lips lingering for a moment as he breathed in her scent. She stilled, tilting her face up and he waited to feel the answering kiss at his throat, tender and so sweet. _But don't ever stop._

"Al?" She breathed, tiny and soft. His fingers ghosted down her arms to her waist, rested there. Lovers amidst carnage. "Al, what is _happening_?"

"It would seem my latest employer is displeased with me."

"Oh _Al_. Please tell me they at least _started_ it."

Wesker smirked. "Perhaps." She tapped his arm with the back of her hand in mock disgust, and he gripped her until she squeaked. "I have not been entirely honest with you, EJ. It would seem we're being hunted, you and I. And while I have an alibi or two, with only Umbrella having listed me as being deceased…"

Her face fell.

Closing his eyes, leaning into her, Wesker listened for anything else that could be coming. The anger was manageable now, at least. " I have done my best to build you the basis of an identity here and you've done what you could to fill in the gaps…but it's still a fake. And pushed too hard, they can find you…Exploit…you."

"I could run." Evelyn mumbled into his chest.

"They would find you." He drew away. "I have done things that would make you weep. Things that would make you despise me."

"I already do." She jammed her hands in the pockets of her little leather jacket and stalked past him. The look he got was typically wifely-anger. "I'm not an idiot. I know what you get up to, _dear_." She paused by the door, studying him, sniffing slightly. Calming. Trusting.

Despite the body count around them, he wanted to fuck her. He needed to have her scream his name – he couldn't relax until she was beneath him, safe in his bed. Forgiving him. But he'd never needed forgiveness until now.

"Even if I destro-" The air between them sizzled. Wesker's words disappeared as she winked out and reappeared in front of him, fingers entangled in his shirt, pulling him down with a force he could not fight.

Evelyn stole the kiss. A painful kiss, her teeth nicking his flesh, and when they parted, blood beaded on his lips – he wasn't sure if it was his or hers. He didn't care, quickly and neatly he lapped it up, pressed close and felt glee when she let him kiss her again.

Veronica rose, starved for contact. Aching, they pulled apart.

"You're starting to sound sentimental, Al. Stupidly sentimental. And that's not you. I don't want a confession. I don't want to even talk while we have…" A useless hand wave at the world. "company. _Damn_ it, Albert." He growled, deep in his throat. "I'm scared for you. I'm scared for me. I understand you have all of this wrapped up in a neat bow but _stop bringing your work home with you_."

"Can't help it."

She moved with lightning swiftness, but it wasn't a slap, it was the lightest of taps with the back of her hand. "Then what are _we_ going to do?"

Wesker closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. "How can you say that so easily?"

A vicious poke at his belly that made him jerk back. "Why do _you_ think?"

Damn her. Damn her, damn her, _damn her_. He slid his sunglasses back on, gathering himself together. "Fine. Fine. I have a safe house in Italy. You _will_ be safe there. Protected." She shook her head, but he continued. "I will drop by, when I can."

"I _won't_ be kept!"

"You will be if you want to be safe. I want you to be safe." A shrug. He knew she hated it when he did that, but he could see her starting to waiver. "I can then concentrate on doing the task at hand, knowing you're not going to be pulled into one Anaru's little antics. Do I need to remind you of Terragrigia?"

"He was on _holiday_, Al."

"I don't care. Show him a BOW and all he wants to do is fight it. He's lucky he made it out of there alive. Partially drowned, yes, but alive. Ugh. _EJ_." Wesker smoothed his hair back, buying himself time. The sunglasses were useless because she could read him so well. She loved it when he was flustered. Cow. "But. All of this is _useless_ if I do not pull off this job and get the Organization where I need it to be."

"Is that your request for me to be good?"

He glared at her over the rim of his sunglasses. Pointed to the door.

No alarms had been raised by the night watchman. They got to the car untouched, Evelyn at the wheel. He needed time to think. A week maybe, at most, down in South America. If the rumours of the Veronica plant were true, he'd have to put it down. Come back. Ship out to Italy again. He knew just the place. Knew what to send. Just a week. She'd be safe for just a week at the docklands safehouse.

Wesker considered asking her to pack as soon as possible. No point in delaying it. His own gear, come to think of it. But first, serum. Then bed. He needed her, body alight despite the outer demeanor of cold. Her pulse was loud in his ears, her desire plain with those snatched glances, chewing of her lip. The way she handled the stick.

This would be their last night for a little while. He shut up that momentary flicker of despair and placed it somewhere safe so he could concentrate on the now and what was important. No plans, no manipulation, no Organization, no Umbrella, just himself and his queen.

In the morning he would not remove his sunglasses. They were on the moment he was up. He needed their darkness, their sanctuary. No tearful goodbyes when they left the place. When they reached the airport. Waiting in the terminal.

Just a tender kiss on the cheek, her arms around his shoulders. A moment he could savour, his own secret – _Make me feel safe, little woman. Make me feel that my world is worth fighting for._

The last he saw of her was a little wave as he went through the Gate.

But after that, Albert Wesker never saw Evelyn Jackson again.

oOo

She opened her eyes slowly, painfully. Smell assaulted her. Staleness. Medication. Urine. A man on the verge of death, but not quite there. The medical machines hissed softly as he moved, cocking his head to the side and staring at her. He smiled, a kindly smile. His words, however, were not so kind.

"You _will_ repay my boy's debts. That's one of the laws of marriage isn't it? Looking after each other's assets? You should have signed a pre-nup, my little lady."

The world span.

The lights went up.

The control collar flooded her system with static while she staggered into the first arena. All she could hear was the roar around her of those watching – those preparing to buy. A brief moment of feeling Marcus, and then he was gone. Silenced, as she was.

"First lot; one of the many biological weapons we have for sale today. I open the bidding at thirty thousand…"

**APRIL 2****ND**** 2005 WILPHARMA AIR DOME, HARVARDVILLE **

Her buyer's name was Downing.

He was not kind. In the beginning, yes. Introducing her to WilPharma. Showing her all the beautiful things they planned to do, what they were doing across the world – India especially. But Evelyn could smell out what really lay beneath the surface. She didn't fight, but of information, she offered nothing. No secrets could be found inside or out; Progenitor in its perfect prison.

Downing was not patient.

"Give it to me." A whisper in her ear. Around her neck the bandages were still clean, signs that at long last the limiter was being accepted by her body, stealing her ability to sing, speak with the hive mind. His fingers lingered, tracing patterns across her bare skin, meeting the tattoo at her back, between her hips.

Evelyn shook her head. Out of the corner of her eye, the six-eyed man watches.

"Just a taste." The light caught his glasses, hiding his gaze from view. He was contemplating reaching for the serum on the table, she could tell. Evelyn bit down nausea. She couldn't take another dose. Not now. "It's not right to keep it to yourself."

Another shake of her head.

The feathers rustle. One by one the eyes go out.

"Why?" He touched her face. Those fingers had touched so much of late, but she couldn't cry any more. There was little left of anything except the beast inside her now, the beast Marcus had created. Downing traced lower. Neck. Shoulders. The curve of her breasts. "One day you'll tell me, Mother-Monster."

It was the last night she was treated as something vaguely human.

oOo

He can't find her.

There's a piece of him missing, and he's not quite right.

[_Where are you?]_ Silent cries to a network he'd tried to deny. In the end TriCell were the only ones he could walk to. Skulk to. Maram went with him.

Jill is a distraction. A reminder of the past.

[_Where are you?]_

Deeper he delved. For Wesker, that was a mistake. He felt them. All of them. The Queens, spread to the four winds. Adapting, changing. He heard whispers of Alexia. Whispers of Birkin.

The clincher was when Eric found him, one afternoon, knee deep in research and trying to forget. An envelope. A picture.

A woman's bloodied back, a tattoo.

Understanding.

_The world doesn't deserve to be saved. _

oOo

"What are you going to call it?" The voice whispered in his ear, hands at his back. She'd been in his quarters again. He knew it. Almost everything had been moved down to the shed by now; he used the excuse of needing to think in order to escape those hands and the lack of personal space. Her jewelry jingled unpleasantly. "I've never seen anything like it, Albert."

The new virus danced on the screen in front of them. Perfectly. Too perfectly.

Memories of a woman in a black dress and a mischievous smile.

Excella leaned into him, her breasts pushing against his shoulder. She didn't have to be so vulgar, but then that was how she did things.

If he concentrated, he could remember her laugh.

"Come on…"

His gaze fell to the frame beside his computer. The reminder Downing had left him. A warning. What little good it had done.

He'd been too late.

Maybe Evelyn would have lived.

Maybe.

Maybe he wouldn't have lost Eric.

Maybe.

Vincent.

Maybe.

All of them.

Evelyn laughed in his memories, his pillow in her hands, hitting him, get up, _get up you fool, I love you. Seize the day or I shall seize it for you. _

_Oh, God._

The Celtic snake wound in on itself, biting its tail.

"Albert?"

_A world this wrong needed to be scrubbed clean_.

"Ouroboros." Wesker said softly, feeling the last part of him break. "The project's name is Ouroboros."

Across the hive mind connection, seven billion voices cried out in agony.

**PRESENT DAY**

They were like children, clutching onto shirt tails or voices in the dark, but Wesker led them straight and true. It was a decidedly easier maze than the last one they'd been in, bypassing the ruins completely, but there were still labs to cross, still unholy creatures that needed to be put down. They were becoming less and less, but more worryingly were those that couldn't escape.

Hurried battles with things that grew out of walls, trapped by their roots. Beasts stuck in rooms with doors too small, howling as they tried to claw their way out. Parasites and moulds growing and changing on the dead flesh of creatures long since turned to mush.

All seem preoccupied. Except for the Reapers – the warrior caste, protecting the hive – everything just wanted to get out.

"They're being called." Wesker said at last. It was another five minute breather – Greg needed his dressings changed, water had to be drank and Sheva was desperate for the bathroom. He pointed her in the right direction, but stayed close to the floor, crouched down, back straight against the cool metal.

_Close to the surface now_. He told himself. Maybe once they got out he could at last be left alone.

Probably not, though. He roused himself painfully, trying to ignore the ache inside, the desire to sleep. The remains of Ourboros twisted violently inside him and Wesker bent his head to his knees, breathing heavily as he shook. Chris kept staring. He wanted to talk. _Goddamnit_, he was going to talk.

_Bollocks. _

"I dropped you in lava."

"I crawled back out."

"Don't you know how to die?"

"Obviously not, which is just as bad." The pain subsided as the cramps evened out. Wesker cracked his shoulders, popping the bones in his neck. Without his usual armour of black, Chris could see the faint traces of crimson flaring across his skin, chasing his former captain's veins. It was both disturbing and beautiful, and Wesker only grew more agitated at the attention he was getting. "Stop staring, Chris. Please do something useful - what's your ammunition like?"

"Why does it matter? Are you going to have another fight out with me and Sheva?"

"Sheva and _I_." Wesker corrected him. Chris just snorted. "And no. I think Sheva knows why she's here and she'll do what she needs to do. In the mean time, _your stocks_."

"Piss off."

"I have a couple of clips." Piped up Greg.

"For fuck's sake, Greg, don't tell him!" Chris kicked at the wall, his answer a growl at the back of his throat. "Goddamnit Wesker, why the hell are you doing this? What are you playing at? Why aren't you dead?"

"I told you, I don't know."

"Wrong answer!"

"What answer would you _prefer_, Chris?" Wesker snarled back. "You think I enjoy this existence?"

"You're here, aren't you?" Wild gestures, Greg shying away as Chris loomed over his former captain, eyes narrowed in fury. "Destroying lives, destroying people, destroying-"

Wesker looked aside, just for a second, and Chris realized he had his gun raised.

It was precisely the wrong time for Sheva to come back, still wiping her hands on her jeans.

"…You're not going to believe this, but the ladies are clean." A pause, suspicion. "Okay, what happened?"

Shifting his weight, Chris looked away. She couldn't see all that well in the dark, but the movement was still noticed. Wesker intervened, voice softening as he watched Chris. "Planning ahead."

"Uh-huh." Sheva folded her arms, frowning. "Not that there's much to plan since this place is practically deserted, and we have no idea where you're taking us."

"Outside, preferably. _Why_ you came in I don't know. Except to wonder what you're looking for, Ms Alomar…" Her name was strange sort of sigh from his lips.

She stalked towards him, and Chris stiffened, remembering Wesker's hands around her neck only a few weeks before. But she stared him down. Wesker merely looked up at her, head cocked to the side like a naughty child who was not sorry at all. Sheva took her gun out of the holster, and pressed it against Wesker's cheek; the pressure was enough to make him turn, expose his throat to her. It was an odd gesture of submission, and the rest of the room waited to see what might happen.

It had been a long time since a woman had been in control for Wesker. The gunmetal was cold against his cheek. Sensual, despite its hardness. It wasn't Sheva standing over him, in his mind's eye it was someone else, and he fought the urge to take the barrel into his mouth. It was the wrong time to think of power games and sex; his body decided to cramp again. "Well?" He hissed through gritted teeth.

"I'm not a patient woman."

"Sheva!"

"It's okay, Greg." Wesker stood slowly, willing the pain down, so close he could feel her warmth. He looked down at her, face shadowed, and eyes glowing. "There's nothing here. Not anymore. This facility has been cleaned out – the only items left are the creatures that are being killed outside, and myself. What are you looking for?"

"It certainly isn't you."

"Excellent." Wesker muttered, tiredly. "So why were the queens deployed? Did your employers not know how dangerous that was?"

"…Queens?"

Wesker stared at them, moving from face to face, trying to tell if they were lying or not. Greg, at last, shook his head, and in the dark, Wesker went pale. He was almost thankful he couldn't be seen. "You mean to tell me you don't know what they are? And you are out here? In _this_?"

There was a distant rumble of thunder, but no words.

He turned away. Loaded up again. "We move, and we move now."

"The hell we are, answer us-"

"The monsoon is going to break, and we will all drown. I have set several chemical bombs in the facility to bleach the area, so nothing gets out. This will include us, if we do not move. I certainly don't care about my fate, but I would like to see Greg get out."

Chris and Sheva looked to each other. Wesker was already out the door, Greg at his heels.

He called over his shoulder. "They are the cleanup crew. They are the ones with the…the Wesker virus…that failed. I am not even sure if it is my virus, actually." The stairs rattled as he climbed, wishing very much so he could just…dart ahead. Leave them be. Greg would fight. Greg was distressingly nice. "They can stop pretty much anything. There are three circling the area; but this place has been raised by so many scavengers, I don't know what's left." A pause. "Sheva? What are you here for? It's empty"

She chewed her lip.

"Empty." Wesker repeated. But his thoughts were already starting to move together. Why had the groups come down here? What were they looking for? Why? Excella had been a financier of the BSAA. Irving had been selling information-

Irving.

The name rolled in his mind, banging like war drums.

The Queens were only ever deployed in an emergency. They hadn't even been dispatched to Terragrigia, and Wesker remembered how Eric had kicked off when he'd been denied access…so why now? Why here? What had been sold?

An emergency.

_Seven billion cries of agony._

Veronica. G.

His blood bubbled.

An _emergency_. But Ourboros was gone.

Right?

Except for the random fragments still inside of him, it was gone, ashes, dust-

Emergency.

Screaming.

His eyes went wide, his body cold. The _ship_.

The _lab_ on the ship. He stumbled, but caught himself just at the last minute, horrified.

_Irving_!

oOo

"Hostile has been sighted."

Not the words she wanted to hear. Kendra gritted her teeth, her hands closing tightly around the radio. The rule of thumb was that she should never enter conflict, even with as much back up as she had – the teams were spreading out quickly now, taking over the ship. Bullets tore at the air, drowned out now and then by the crackle to thunder.

The ship rocked against the docks. Things were tearing loose.

It mustn't enter the water. There were already beasts everywhere, but they were weak, undernourished, chased from the hive. The mercenaries killed them, or the mutation picked them off, one by one. It would leap from the shore back to the ship, climbing onto the buildings and generally…generally being a goddamn nuisance.

"Ma'am."

She ignored the words, focusing on the creature dancing in the air. If she could catch it- could tame it-

_No. It didn't work with Birkin. There was no way of controlling Ms Trevor. Once the control mechanisms are removed, there is nothing left of the original personality – it is totally overwritten to survive._ A pause. _Except_…

Could fighting the swarm be considered survival?

Or programming?

_Damn you James. Damn you to hell. _

"Ma'am!"

Kendra shot the young man a murderous glance. "_What_? Damn it, I need to think. What is the matter with you?"

"Gunshots inside the facility."

"That's fine."

"But ma'am!"

"It's the active agents of the BSAA." She calmed herself – her ulcer was going to start acting up at this rate. "They shouldn't prove a problem. We are not here for them, and if they do cause issues, we have a back up plan." He followed her gaze to the pale-haired woman clinging to Doctor El-Amin. "She's the weak spot of Redfield's. The other woman will follow Redfield."

"And the BOW?"

Kendra wrinkled her nose. "Gregory will stand down. And please don't call him a BOW." She plucked at a sleeve irritably. "He's just upgraded. Like you would be if you actually did your bloody job."

"Yes ma'am." He scuttled off. She'd found they appreciated a bit of lip, and the fiery nature nurtured in Umbrella's walls had served her well during the transitions from job to job. That was a lie. _Technically_ she was working for a private investor who had simply…sold up shop. She'd just moved with him…

Above her, the creature made another pass, trying to land on the ship. Instead, it landed hard against one of the walls of the bay, screaming in defiance as the black-clad figures changed their positions, raked it with gunfire. The wings flapped as it tried to find its balance, talons digging into a rusted water tower, and the cliff-face. It lashed its tail, and as she watched, the tail split once more, becoming four strands instead of two, what she had originally taken as a set of bony spurs now knives, independent of each other.

Beautiful. _I like you better this way. _

Shouts from below. She turned, watching a door be flung open and a tumble of people. A smile quirked at her lips, and she managed a girlish laugh.

This was Arklay, all over again. Except now they'd switch places.

The Reapers were gunned down in a hail of bullets, the agents flinging themselves flat, having come to the sacrificial altar without much help, except from the devil himself. Wesker was with them.

She laughed _hard_.

_Oh Oz. Oz, I wish you could see this. He's hilarious._

"Maram?"

"What? What-oh shit. Oh shit."

"Stop swearing." She dove forward, dragging Jill against her. The pale woman struggled, but watched her with intelligence that was too clear. "You've been bad, haven't you."

Maram sighed sadly.

The mercenaries ringed the agents and the former researcher. Lightning crackled overhead. Their eyes met, and Kendra found her smile more forced when she met Wesker's fiery, naked gaze.

"Welcome!" She roared, forcing Jill ahead of her. "So _glad_ you could make it – I was a little concerned, when I got here, I found nobody but the flying snake that's making a mess of things. However…" The grin became girlish. With each step she exposed herself more on the railing above them, one of the overhead walkways that Wesker himself had been using when Excella met her end.

The irony wasn't lost on him.

Kendra didn't care. "Now that we're all here, we can begin."

/To be continued.

_Just had to get this up here. Sorry for the lack of quality and...IDK, sense? Goddamnit D: WE ARE SO CLOSE TO THE END. Next chapter/s should be up quickly seeing as they're half-written anyway ;A;_


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